Bound
by Wired Witch
Summary: Dean is in serious trouble after Sam finds out a secret he’s been keeping from their time apart.
1. Running On Empty

TITLE: Bound   
SUMMARY: Dean is in serious trouble after Sam finds out a secret he's been keeping from their time apart.  
RATING: T  
DISCLAIMER: I don't pwn Supernatural.  
WARNINGS: Violence, some swearing. Set after Scarecrow, so spoilers up until and including that episode may be referred to.  
NOTES: This is my first Supernatural fic! I'm British so I don't know much about American geography, and have made up most of the place names in the story, I hope you'll forgive me. Also, I spell some stuff differently. I hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER ONE  
Running On Empty  
-----------------

Yesterday had been an average day. They hadn't been killed, which was always a plus, but both Sam and Dean Winchester had come away from their latest battle with war wounds. Dean sported an award winning collection of bruises along his right side from being dragged along the floor at an alarming speed by invisible forces, and Sam had bruises of his own, along with cut up arms from defending his head against flying objects, including cutlery. Some lousy ass poltergeist had gotten the better of them in Knoxville. It shouldn't have happened, but both brothers knew the reason it had.

Since their father had called them to send the brothers to Burkitsville where the couples had been vanishing, the hunts had been different. They were still walking, still breathing, but they were tired and hungry, and the degree of these complaints had only been growing with time. Sam and Dean were weary, and they were making mistakes.

"Dean, this next one can wait. We should pull over and get some food," Sam told his brother, who was driving. "I wouldn't mind some decent sleep some time this month too," he muttered. He suspected if he actually made contact with a comfortable bed, he'd probably be out for a full twenty-four hours, and that was just fine by him.

Dean didn't take his eyes off the road. He looked like he was deep in thought, but driving always had that effect on him. "Sleep now, save time," the older brother shrugged, picking up Sam's quiet comment. "And I think there's some pizza left in the back."

"Four day old pizza and car sleep are not exactly what I had in mind," Sam answered back. "Besides, you need to sleep to."

"I'm fine," Dean dismissed, just like Sam predicted he would. "But you're right, we should stop and eat," he added, surprising Sam somewhat.

"I saw a sign for some services about a mile back. They should be coming up soon." Sam pushed himself up from his slouched position in anticipation of actually getting out of the car. They'd been driving for hours. Well, Dean had been driving for hours. Sam had offered to take over more than once but Dean had insisted he was fine. Sam guessed his brother just needed more time to think things over.

Their father's cryptic phone call leading them to Burkitsville, not to mention the brothers' own argument afterwards, had shaken things up, but Sam had thought they had worked through it. Apparently this wasn't the case. Though such a conclusion hadn't been spoken aloud, Sam had been observing Dean's behaviour with more and more concern over the weeks. He'd been doing everything _less_. Less talking, less sleeping, less eating. He'd just been less _Dean_.

Sam was tired and hungry as hell, but even when they'd had opportunities to rest, Sam would wake up and find Dean just sitting, staring. Sometimes he'd stare at his cell and just look...well, sad. It was disturbing. What made it worse was that Sam didn't know what to do about it. Dean was stubborn at the best of times and when it came to physical or mental state, he was unbearably so. Sam wasn't exactly a great role model for a healthy state of mind either. He'd only be a hypocrite if he tried to be some kind of counsellor to Dean.

So they just pushed on. Kept hunting, kept not talking, kept barely getting enough sleep. But edges were fraying. Sam knew it couldn't last for much longer. Dean agreeing to this rest stop seemed the first positive step in days, and Sam had instantly perked up because of it. The thought of hot food was already making his mouth water. On the sign he had seen, it looked like there was a motel up ahead too. Maybe after eating he could convince Dean to stay there awhile and they could both get some sleep.

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Dean got out of the car and stretched unenthusiastically. He didn't really have much of an appetite, especially for greasy truck-stop food at this ungodly hour of the night...morning? What the hell was the time anyway? Whatever it was, Dean's stomach was turning at the thought of ingesting anything, yet he knew Sam would try to make him. The older of the pair knew he could go on for at least another couple of days. Dean was well practised in this kind of lifestyle and knew his own body's limits, no matter what his brother, or his father, or anyone else tried to argue. He was hoping they'd make it until after the next job before resting up, but they hadn't made good time and Sam needed to eat and sleep. Dean couldn't deny his little brother any much longer.

"Go and order some food, I'm going to book us a room," he yelled at Sam, who was already headed towards the diner like a moth to a flame.

Sam turned around and waved in acknowledgement, and Dean swore he could see his eyes light up with glee. Dean was well aware of Sam's concerned gaze over the past weeks, and had been secretly thankful that his little brother hadn't worked up the mettle to say anything. Anything along the lines of 'are you alright?' or 'what's wrong' would only serve to piss Dean off, mainly because he didn't have any answers to give.

Couldn't he just be a moody bastard for five minutes without someone trying to analyse him? Actually, that had never been much of a problem until Sam came back into the picture. Come to think of it, no-one except Sam had ever tried getting him to 'open up' or talk about his feelings or any of that crap before. That was kind of pathetic, but kind of nice too. Dean made a little promise to himself to try and not be such a moody bastard to Sam from that point. It would be tricky though, what with his brother's tendency to be quite irritating most of the time. That was nothing new though. That was what brothers were for.

He booked a room at the motel, an activity Dean had performed so much that he barely even noticed it had taken place, and headed over to the diner. He still had no idea of the time, and nothing around him was very telling. The sky was a strange shade of purple, it had to be dusk or dawn but Dean honestly couldn't say which. He hadn't slept in a while and he kind of lost track of time. From the looks of the place, it was buzzing twenty-four seven, being on a common trucker route. There were quite a few people around, it didn't look that bad compared to some of the usual dives the brothers found themselves in.

When he entered he spotted Sam in a booth next to the window. "You order yet?" Dean asked as soon as he slid in opposite his brother.

"Not yet, they're really busy. I got coffee though," Sam told him, taking a gulp from his own cup.

"Sweet," Dean sighed. The full to the brim mug of caffeinated nectar was truly beautiful to behold. He savoured the smell for a moment before taking a long sip.

"Want me to leave you and the coffee alone? I can see this is a private moment," Sam said, grinning.

"I don't care who knows. I'm going to marry this coffee, Sammy," Dean replied, then added, completely deadpan; "Will you be my best man?"

Sam laughed. Dean was surprised to find he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like, it had happened so little lately. Sammy really did need to stop and rest for a while. His mood had instantly shot upwards at the prospect of food and sleep. Dean supposed he could try to get a few Zs in himself but recently it had been a fruitless venture. He just couldn't shake his insomnia lately.

"You get the room?" Sam asked.

"Yup," Dean replied, jangling the keys.

"My god, I swear I could crash for a week," Sam said, resting his chin on his hands and rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah well, one night will have to do, we gotta get to this next gig," Dean said, simultaneously trying to catch the eye of the waitress so Sam could get some food.

"One _day_, you mean," Sam corrected, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean replied, hoping Sam wouldn't pick him up on it. No such luck.

"Your sleeping pattern is totally screwed. So is mine. We should have slept before the last job."

Dean frowned, mirroring Sam's. He knew the last job hadn't gone smoothly, and they hadn't talked about it, but he didn't want to talk about it now. Or ever, really. He would get his wish for a little while. The waitress came over to take their order. She smiled politely, while quietly mulling over the fact that the pair resembled beaten-up drug addicts because they looked so washed out.

"I'll have a full breakfast, please," Sam asked the young woman, practically drooling as he said it.

"Nothin' for me, thank-you," Dean said, flashing her a patented 'melt you where you stand' smile. Even when he was running on empty, Dean could still work it.

The waitress returned the smile and started to leave but Sam stopped her. "He'll have a full breakfast too."

"Dude," Dean said, annoyed. "What are you doing?"

"Don't 'dude' me. You're eating. I'm not going to let you run on coffee."

"'Let me'?" Dean repeated incredulously. He really didn't like that new tone Sam had conjured up out of nowhere in the last five minutes.

Sam challenged him with a glare, and Dean decided he was too worn out to argue. Besides, maybe when the food came it would revive his waning appetite. He mumbled an irritated 'whatever' to let Sammy know he wasn't happy, and the pair sat in silence until their meals arrived.

Half an hour later and Sam's plate was empty. Dean had actually eaten more than he expected to, but left a lot. Sam suspected he was just being stubborn, but considered it a small victory anyway.

"So, the next gig's pretty much the same thing as in Waterstone," Dean began, back to business as usual. "A quick binding and purging spell should do the trick. We'll be in and out in a coupla hours. No problem."

Sam had tried to listen to Dean but he could feel a killer headache coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, drawing Dean's attention.

"Sam?"

"Headache," Sam replied quickly, but he was starting to suspect that this wasn't a normal headache. It felt like one of the headaches that made people look at him funny and occasionally call him a freak.

"Joe Every-Headache or Sam's Special Blend Headache?" Dean inquired with concern. It wasn't as if he could do anything about the second, but there was some aspirin in the car should it be the first.

Sam couldn't reply. The vision had filled his head with pain and he was just trying to keep it together.

The vision was like a dream. A painful, messed up dream. There were flashes of the interior of an empty house. It looked pretty run-down. Sam tried to take it all in. He could only follow where the vision was taking him, not control where it went, and it wasn't like he could rewind and play it back; these things only premiered once.

After more flashes of the house, it came to Dean. He was standing in an empty room where the paint peeled off the wall. Dean himself looked like hell. He was covered in dust, bruises and blood. He was standing as if it took all his strength to do so. His skin was drained of colour and his eyes were wide with fear.

Though he tried, Sam couldn't see what Dean was standing face to face with. Then there was a voice, jagged and sickly, and Sam guessed it had come from whatever Dean was standing in front of. "Time's up," it said.

Then Dean whispered something. Sam barely caught it. "Eight-hundred days."

And then it was all over. Sam opened his eyes and it was as if nothing had happened. The only trace of the vision was in Sam's head, in memory and in the lingering headache.

"You alright?" Dean asked. "What did you see?"

Sam wasn't sure what to say. His vision hadn't really made any sense, and it was pretty vague. The paint-peeling room wasn't exactly a unique location, and Dean wasn't wearing the same clothes he had on now, so he couldn't tell when exactly when he would be meeting this...whatever it was Dean had been facing. As cryptic visions went, this was up there with the best of them.

Sam had to think about this, about what it meant. Dean had clearly been in trouble, and the 'time's up' statement from the mystery bad guy hadn't exactly been friendly. And just what was the significance of the 'eight-hundred days' Dean had spoken of? Had he recognised the thing?

"Sam," Dean repeated, interrupting Sam's rapid train of thought, his own fret-levels rising with every second Sam didn't answer him.

"This next job," Sam finally replied. "Where is it? Is it a house?"

"A house, yeah," Dean told him, waiting for more information.

"What kind of state is it in? Are there people living there?"

"No, it's been empty for years. The owner couldn't sell with Casper the Unfriendly living it up in there so he emailed me," Dean explained. "Is something bad gonna happen there? Do we need to get there today?"

"No, no, we're okay. I just...think we need to be more careful. I'm not sure it's going to be a routine hunt."

"What did you see?" Dean pushed, unhappy with just getting the sketchy details.

Sam decided there was no point in keeping anything from his brother. He had never had a vision that wasn't a foretelling of something very bad. He decided there and then that he wouldn't leave Dean's side, not for a second. Not until he was sure his brother was out of danger.

"I saw you. You looked pretty banged up. You were in this room with something, but I couldn't see what it was. It said 'time's up'." Sam was surprised to hear how short and succinct he had made the painful, confusing vision.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's it? A little vague, don't you think?"

"Then you said something," Sam continued, getting ready to gauge Dean's reaction.

"Something witty and debonaire, I hope," Dean smiled, and went for another sip of coffee.

"You said 'eight-hundred days'."

Dean froze.

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End of Chapter One  
Next Chapter: No-One Said It Would Be Easy


	2. No One Said It Would Be Easy

NOTES: Thanks so much to everyone who left feedback and added to their alerts, it made my weekend! This chapter's kinda shitty as a follow-up, but it's a means to an end so stick with it, the chapter's after will be better, I promise! 

CHAPTER TWO  
No-One Said It Would Be Easy  
-----------------

"Dean, what is it? What does that mean?" Sam pressed, on seeing his brother's reaction.

Dean was quiet for a little while longer, then he shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, I have no idea."

Sam was taken aback. This hadn't been what he was expecting. Dean had clearly been affected by the words, shaken even, and now he was lying to Sam's face. _Badly_. "You have no idea?" Sam repeated, skeptically.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Dean barked, but his eyes wouldn't meet Sam's.

Sam couldn't believe what he was witnessing. "You really have no clue as to what you could have meant by 'eight-hundred days'."

"I told you, no," Dean insisted, sliding out of the booth. "Let's pay for this and get some sleep."

Sam just watched his brother head over to the counter for a moment and wondered what to do next. From Dean's profound reaction, Sam was certain something was up, but what possible reason could there be for him to lie so blatantly? He'd have to decide later, Sam realised, as his brother was impatiently beckoning him to hurry up.

The twin room was nothing special, but to Sam it looked like the Four Seasons. He crawled onto the bed by the window and just soaked up its comfort for a minute before rolling over onto his back and glancing over at Dean. He looked more than preoccupied. Sam knew he had to protect Dean, otherwise he wouldn't have had the vision. Even if Dean wouldn't co-operate, Sam would find out what was going on without his help if that's what it took.

"Hey, which bag is dad's journal in?" he called, suddenly getting an idea.

"It's in the black one," Dean replied, emerging from the bathroom with a glass of water and a packet of aspirin. "I thought you were tired," he added, then wordlessly putting the pills on the bedside cabinet and pushing the glass over to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said, mildly surprised. He hadn't even asked for the pills, and he'd thought given the way Dean had acted only minutes ago in the diner, that he was pissed off with him. "I was tired. I am tired. I just need something to read while...I wait for these to kick in," Sam improvised, downing two pills with the water. It wasn't a total lie.

"Whatever," Dean said, digging out the journal and handing it over. Then he went back into the bathroom and closed the door.

Sam flicked through the journal and found the pages he was looking for. The brunette had made an educated guess as to the meaning of Dean's words. Eight hundred days ago worked out as roughly two years and some change, so Sam would have just left for Stanford and Dean and their father would have been hunting together. Maybe something happened back then, and maybe their father had written something about it.

There were three entries made around the time. Sam recognised them because he'd read them before. A kind of vain curiosity had driven Sam to read them month ago, to see if John had written anything about him leaving. There had been a brief _'It's just me and Dean now' _but that was all. The name 'Sam' wasn't even mentioned, and it didn't appear in the journal after that. Sam pushed away the sore memories surrounding that particular time and read on. The first entry was scribbled in John's typical script.

_May 2nd North Adams  
Received call from Peter Grave. Entire town acting bizarrely. Reminiscent of cult mentality.  
Church source. Priest possessed. Exorcism was messy. Priest didn't survive. Town back to normal, already talking about 'leaking gas pipes' causing the odd behaviour._

_May 10th Bridgestone  
Braken (Soul Eater). Surface interval? ONE SOUL. Banishing ritual 'Expulsum atrum_'.

_May 26th_ _Eastbergh  
Edward Stevens, Blue Hotel  
Double Poltergeist. Routine purge._

Sam frowned. He'd never heard of this 'Braken' demon, but other than that, the entries were unexceptional. Unexceptional to a Winchester, of course. If something had happened to Dean, or something had gone seriously wrong with a case, their father would have written about it. Unless he didn't know about it. That particular avenue caused Sam trouble. Dean keeping things from him was out of the ordinary, true, but him keeping things from John?

Dean returned from the bathroom ready for bed. Sam set the journal on the side, took off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. He hadn't the energy to do much else; his eyelids were already dropping. By the time Dean had climbed into his own bed and switched the light off, Sam was asleep.

Dean found he could not succumb to the same luxury. He lay in the dark thinking about what Sam had told him. It didn't make any sense. He had finished it over two years ago, why would Sammy see him in a vision saying what he said?

Dean looked over at his brother, who was highlighted by the purple glow of the coming dawn and the yellow street lamps outside. He knew Sam would keep pushing, keep investigating, with or without any help. He wouldn't find anything though. There was nothing in dad's journal because John didn't know anything about what happened. No-one did. It was a secret Dean had kept for over two years, and he intended to keep it for a lot longer.

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It was 8pm when Dean decided he'd had enough of not sleeping. He had dozed off one or two times but he always woke before he could slip any deeper. He nudged his brother's arm and told him to get up before hitting the shower.

Forty-five minutes later both brother's were dressed, packed, and in the car; well-practised after so long on the road. Dean had graciously let Sam get a cheeseburger to go from the diner, after he'd complained and pointed out that they did sleep through lunch.

"I can drive, if you want," Sam offered. In the cheeseburger-induced bliss he was in, he'd forgotten that Dean had been driving non-stop recently, and he wasn't exactly looking so great either. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I'm fine," Dean replied, ignoring the question and the offer at the same time.

After a few minutes on the road in silence, Dean spoke up again. "I got all we need ready for this next job. A few latin 'get the hell out's and we're done. But since you had this vision, we'll take the shotguns as well as the holy water, just in case."

Sam nodded in agreement, but it was obvious his head was elsewhere. "Are you alright?" he asked out of the blue.

Dean looked over, then back at the road, a little surprised at the sudden question. "I'm fine. Any particular reason you keep asking?"

"Come on. You haven't been sleeping, you're hardly eating. You're hardly talking," Sam listed. "I mean...we're okay, right? Since that argument..."

"We're okay, Sammy," Dean lied. It was easier to lie than to deal with all the crap that had been knocking around in his head the last few days. Nothing was okay. It was all...it was all just happening around him and he was watching it. Since Burkitsville and that phone call, since that stupid argument about dad, since he'd been left on his own, again, Dean had been sorely pissed off at the world and everything in it. What was Sam going to do about it, anyway? As much as he hated it, Sammy was part of the problem.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked again. "'Cause I'm sensing otherwise."

"'Sensing'? What, you're like Counsellor Troi now?" Dean shot back.

"Dean, I'm being serious."

"Yeah, you did always have the knack for that."

"Stop avoiding talking about it!"

"About what!"

"Whatever it is that's got you brooding," Sam replied. "Seriously, dude, you're so emo. All you need is black nail varnish and a few dozen piercings."

Dean couldn't help laughing. "Emo, huh?"

Sam let a smile slip too. Damn, how did Dean always do that? "This isn't over," he threatened, the smile fading.

Dean held his hands up, keeping his palms on the wheel. "I didn't even know it had started."

Dean sighed internally. He'd dodged a bullet for the time being, but Sam never let up. He was, however, easily strayed off course; a fact that Dean had used to his advantage on many an occasion. Dean really did wish nothing was wrong. Thanks to John Winchester, he'd built up a solid wall to block out all the emotional crap that only served to get in the way of the hunt. But for some reason his wall was crumbling, and it _was _getting in the way. Sam had been right about the sleeping and eating thing. Dean was worn out, and god, he really did need some sleep.

Dean switched back to business mode when he realised they had reached their destination. The journey had gone quickly. Their target was a house, off the main residential street and down a long drive. It was a huge place. The grounds surrounding it hadn't been kept, and the plants were growing wild.

When they reached the end of the drive, Dean parked to the side of the house. "You ready for this? Or do you want to talk about how I'm feeling some more?" he asked sarcastically, getting out of the car before Sam had any opportunity to answer.

"We didn't talk about it in the first place," Sam muttered, and got out the car too. He still wasn't sure going into to this place was a good idea, but Sam knew Dean would insist, most likely with a 'if you're not coming, I'll do it alone' threat. Sam couldn't allow that. If they were going in, he was sticking to Dean like glue.

Equipment ready, the brothers found the front door ajar. "Guess you don't need a security system when you got evil spirits," Dean said.

"Is the owner meeting us?" Sam said, trying not to let Dean's attempts at humour distract him. He still had his vision to think about.

"Nah," Dean replied. "We do our thing, let him know, get a 'job well done', yadda yadda yadda. So impersonal, but what the hell. We're not in it for the glory, right?"

Sam considered posing the question of exactly why they did do it, but decided a conversation that heavy could wait until another time. Besides, Sam had switched to hunting mode, and his every sense was on alert.

"Not getting any readings in this room. Why don't you check out upstairs and I'll take downstairs?"

"No, we should stick together on this one. My vision, remember?"

Dean remembered it all too well. "Right, right. Fine, let's start down here," he said, heading for a door on the left. "This place is huge, this is going to take forever."

"Not if we get lucky," Sam replied. The sooner they were out of there the better. "Besides, spirits usually like to mess with people. Maybe it'll find us."

As the made their way through the house, scanning for any strange activity, Sam couldn't help but be impressed by the place. It was no doubt worth a hell of a lot of money now, and would be worth more if it were to be fixed up. It looked as if it had been tried before; there were paint cans, ladders and tools lying in some areas, abandoned.

Twenty minutes later, they were still on the ground floor. Suddenly the EMF metre got a reading. "Got something," Dean announced. "It's coming from this next room. You got the incantation ready?"

Sam nodded.

Dean went to open the door but before his fingers touched the handle, it opened on its own. "I guess we're invited in."

"This isn't right. This thing is supposed to be violent, why's it opening doors for us?"

"I know, smells like a trap," Dean agreed, "but we've gotta get close to bind this son of a bitch."

Sam knew Dean was right. They had to follow the readings, regardless. With caution, the brothers moved onwards into the room.

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End of Chapter Two  
Next Chapter: Harbinger


	3. Harbinger

NOTES: Hehehe I'm always stressed at this time of year (going back to uni, so much going on!) so it makes me feel great knowing that people are enjoying my fic and taking the time to leave comments. As a reward for being such nice peeps, here's another chapter. Oh, and get used to the evil endings - I'm afraid there's plenty more to come.

CHAPTER THREE  
Harbinger  
-----------------

"Watch your head Sam!" Dean yelled as a bucket of paint went hurtling towards his little brother.

Sam ducked the flying object and continued shouting the binding incantation. Their suspicions that the room was a trap had been accurate. The spirit wasn't exactly happy with the idea of moving out, and had proceeded to trap the pair in the room along with some heavy flying objects.

Although the case wasn't unlike their previous job, it was small-time spirit. It didn't take long for the incantations to start working. The spirit kicked up more of a fuss but its strength was dwindling.

Sam read from his notes quickly but clearly. He didn't intend to make any mistakes. He kept glancing at Dean, who was fighting off various possessed inanimate objects. He was doing okay, until a candlestick came at him from behind and clipped the side of his head. He yelled out, causing Sam to lose his place.

"Shit!" Sam cursed. "Dean, you alright?"

"Fine, just finish it!" Dean shouted back. The spirit had been screeching something chronic while Sam had been reading; it was difficult to hear.

It took a moment for Sam to find his place. He was right near the end. "Quod vos vadum nunquam reverto ut is rectus!"

Sam had to cover his ears as the spirit screeched even louder than before. A black void opened in the floor and shadows emerged from it, claiming the spirit and dragging it back into the abyss.

And then everything was quiet again. All the objects that had been animated crashed to the floor and Sam removed his hands from his ears. The spell had taken a lot out of him. Regaining his composure, he went over to see if Dean was alright.

"Godammit," the older brother muttered, his hand timidly poking at the new wound above his eyebrow.

"Let me see," Sam said, pulling Dean's hand away. Blood was pouring out of the gash at a steady rate, and it looked like Dean had picked up another fine bruise to add to his collection. It looked like he might need stitches, but it could wait. Then Sam remembered his vision. Dean had had blood on his face. But he still didn't look as beat up as he had been when Sam had seen him.

"Here, take this," Sam told him, handing over a rag to stop the bleeding with.

Dean pressed it against the cut and grimaced angrily. Like he needed a goddamn headache on top of everything else. "I don't know about you, but I'm up for getting the hell out of here." Shit, now there was blood in his eye.

"No argument there," Sam replied, uneasily. He kept his guard up, and his grip on the shotgun got tighter.

As they moved back through the house, towards the door, the silence was driving Sam crazy. Nothing was moving; they'd got rid of the threat, so why did it all still feel so wrong? The front door was in sight. Maybe the vision wasn't going to come to pass...

"You got everything? We don't need to go back in, do we?" Sam asked. They were by the door now, almost free. Maybe the vision wasn't for today. Maybe it was a different day, a different place. But deep down Sam knew it wasn't true.

And in three seconds, he would be proved right.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance. Suddenly, violently, he was wrenched from where he stood an invisible force. Sam started running even before he knew what was going on. Dean was being taken, fast, by something invisible, something strong. It was dragging him through the air, and along the ground intermittently, crashing by and through anything in his path.

Sam could barely keep up, but he would not stop.

Finally, mercifully, the end of the house came. Dean had been dragged the entire length, and Sam had followed. Dean was thrust against the wall and collapsed into a heap on the ground. Sam couldn't tell if he was conscious or not before the door between him and Dean slammed shut.

"NO!" he yelled, pounding against the door. "DEAN!"

Inside the room, Dean coughed. It was a strangled, agonised sound, and for a moment he did realise he had made it himself. His body was on fire with pain; it filled every inch of him. He was surrounded by dust and debris from the path along which he had been hauled.

Someone was calling his name, but Dean was barely holding onto his consciousness as it was. Actually trying to think of a response and then making his voice work didn't sound like an act within the realms of possibility.

"Finally. I thought he'd never leave."

Dean had heard those words clearly. He'd heard them clearly because they'd been inside his head. Snapping his eyes open, Dean understood why. Looming over him was a man. No, not a man, a thing, a demon, a disgusting, foul creature that only vaguely resembled a human being because it chose to. If you took away the pitch black eyes, the oil-like substance oozing from its every orifice, and the fact that the skin on his face appeared to be melting, then yes, it could be mistaken for a man.

Dean had never seen anything like it before in his life, a fact he was somewhat relieved about. From Sam's vision, he'd started to think he'd come face to face with him again.

He coughed again, trying to make his body obey his brain. He could taste blood in his mouth and his chest hurt like hell. Dean was surprised to find that there was nothing on top of it, because that was what it felt like. Somehow he managed to get to his feet. Sort of. The wall was helping.

"I've been looking for you for some time," the creature said, out loud this time. What could only be described as black gunk leaked from its mouth as it spoke. It didn't have any teeth to speak of, making its voice slurred.

"Yeah? I'm honoured. Who the hell are you?" Dean managed to say, albeit quietly. He cradled his chest in one hand and with the other, very slowly, went for his pocket. While Sam had slept he'd prepared an all-purpose 'go back to wherever the hell you came from' purging spell, just in case Sam's vision came true.

"I am a messenger."

"You know, I've got a phone. Coulda saved you the trip." Oh god, he hurt. He hurt everywhere.

"I am a messenger, for him."

Dean scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I know a lot of 'hims'," he retorted. "Care to be a little more specific?" He pushed off from the wall and took an unsteady step forward. He wanted to stand on his own two feet to waste this son of a bitch. It was a shame he had dropped his shotgun, but being torn from your feet at what felt like eighty miles per hour would do that to a guy.

The demon chuckled, more black slime dribbling out of his mouth. "Your memory has failed you? Or is it your time-keeping?" The creature advanced on him, a wide, toothless grin spreading across his face. "You've been free for the agreed amount of time. Time's up."

With chilling realisation, Dean understood. "Eight-hundred days."

Then, before Dean could react, the demon lunged at him at frightening speed. Dean crashed to the floor once again, the disgusting creature landing on top of him.

Dean used one arm to keep the demon away from him, and with the other he brought the paper from his pocket and started to read. He tried to force himself into a roll to gain the upper hand but the demon was too strong, and Dean was barely keeping it together.

He managed to spit out a few lines of the spell, none of which appeared to have any effect on the still grinning demon. With one hand it grabbed Dean by the neck, and with the other, seized his wrist. Dean screamed in pain as his arm started to burn, but the demon wouldn't let go.

Then something weird happened. Of course, context is relative, and usually, battling a demon in an abandoned house would seem weird to the average Joe, but this was Winchester weird.

The demon let go of Dean's arm, rolled off and stood up in one fluid movement. Then it finished the incantation and sent itself back to Hell.

Dean lay in shock for a while. All he wanted to do was give in to the overwhelming urge to just close his eyes and let unconsciousness take him. But Dean had slowly tuned back into the background noise of Sam pounding against the door and shouting his name over and over.

"I'm okay, Sam," Dean croaked, but it was barely audible so he tried repeating himself. This attempt resulted in a coughing fit. Third time's the charm, he thought to himself, choking back every breath. "I'm okay, Sam."

Sam had heard that one, because he stopped hammering on the door. "Let me in!"

"Sure," Dean muttered to himself. "I'll be right there." No problem. I'll just get up, walk to the door and open it. Get up...off the floor...

Dean waited for his body to listen to him, but so far it was pretending it couldn't hear. Oh god, was he actually shaking? Sam wasn't going to like this. He was already intolerable, fussing over the apparent mental anguish he was so convinced Dean was in. What was he going to be like after he found out his brother couldn't even get to his feet?

No, Dean wasn't about to let that happen. Finding some buried strength, he sat up. Okay, that hurt. A lot, he decided, coughing again. A small amount of blood came up with each wheeze, but he simply wiped it away. Moving each leg slowly and individually, he manoeuvred into position, preparing for the final stage of the endeavour.

"Dean?" Sam called, his voice heavy with concern. "Are you alright?"

Dear god, he was already sick of that question, and Dean had a feeling he was going to be hearing it a whole lot more. Taking a few breaths and focusing, he pushed his weight onto his hands and arms, then his feet. Finally, he was standing.

With one last glance to the spot where the demon had stood, he staggered over to the door. Sam burst in, gun aimed and ready. He relaxed finally when he saw there was no-one in the room but Dean. Then he went pale.

"Oh my God," he uttered when he saw what state Dean was in. The vision had come true, and he had failed to stop it. "We have to get you to a hospital."

"Nah, looks worse than it is," Dean said, waving a hand in dismissal of the idea. Unfortunately it caused him to lose his balance and he toppled over. Sam grabbed him just in time. Dean slid down the wall by the door, with Sam guiding him down so he didn't hit the floor with too much force.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Sam said decidedly.

Dean shook his head, paint chippings and dust clouding off his hair as he did so. "They'll ask too many questions, Sammy, you know that. Just help me to the car."

Sam wasn't happy, but he did as Dean asked. If he was even asking for that much help, it must have been bad. Sam aided Dean to his feet and manoeuvred into a stance where Dean could put his weight on him. "What the hell happened?"

"Demon," Dean said quietly. "Fugly thing, too. Didn't like me much."

"You killed it?" Sam inquired, wondering exactly how Dean would do such a thing without a weapon, or seemingly, the ability to stand.

"It kinda did the job for me," Dean replied, concentrating harder than he ever had on not passing out as they made their way out of the house.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"Killed itself," Dean said succinctly. "Weird."

"Are you sure it wasn't a trick?"

"It's gone, Sam."

They finally made it outside and staggered awkwardly down the steps to the car. Sam helped Dean carefully into the passenger seat and closed the door. Dean rested his head back and resisted the urge to close his eyes. Sam would want to take him to a hospital and it was a whole lot harder to argue when you were unconscious.

Sam climbed into the driver's seat and stared silently. "You don't look good. I think we should go to the hospital. We can use one of the credit cards, make something up and leave before anyone gets to suspicious."

"Not happening, Sammy. Really, I'm okay. Nothing some aspirin and a long sleep won't cure."

Sam knew that was Deanspeak for 'I could be dying, but it doesn't really matter, because I'm Dean Winchester and 'pain' isn't in my vocabulary. Neither is 'hospital.'

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was apparently still not convinced. "Take us back to the motel. I'm serious, Sam. If I wake up in a hospital, I will not be happy."

"Fine, but if you're still bad in the morning, we're going."

Dean was annoyed at Sam's defiance but at the same time impressed. There had been no leeway in his voice and Dean could tell he meant what he said. It looked like his baby brother was coming into his own. When he was sure they were on the way to the motel, Dean allowed himself to slip into the unconscious void. It had never felt so sweet.

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End of Chapter Three  
Next Chapter: Demons


	4. Demons

NOTES: Hmm, have anyone elses alerts emails stopped? I haven't been getting any in the past couple of days...Anyway thanks again for the reviews, here is another chapter for you. ANGST WARNING! Haha, I'm evil and it's working for me. 

CHAPTER FOUR  
Demons  
-----------------

Sam didn't like it, but he had to leave Dean in the car while he went and booked another room. For one, Dean was unconscious, and Sam didn't want to wake him any sooner than necessary. Second, the state he was in would raise too many questions. Sam got the room for four days and four nights, and went back to the car, where Dean was right where he left him.

"Dean...Dean, come on, we're here."

When Dean woke up, for half a second, he didn't remember what had happened, and he didn't feel any pain. Then it engulfed him so quickly it was all he could do to keep from puking up. It helped, of course, that he was still in the Impala, and blow to the head or none, _no-one _was going to be sick in his car.

Sam helped him out of the car and to his feet, and he didn't resist. He didn't speak either. His chest was still hurting like hell, and he could still taste blood in his mouth. Talking might alert Sam to that fact, and Dean didn't want that. A solid night of sleep would do just fine. Not that he'd say no to half a dozen painkillers at that point.

The room Sam had obtained was two doors down from the one they had stayed in previously. Sam, bearing more of Dean's weight than he'd hoped necessary, pushed open the door and kicked it closed again once they were inside.

"Nuh...bathroom..." Dean muttered, when Sam had started to lead him to the bed.

Once they were at the bathroom door, Dean pulled away. "Dude, little privacy?"

Sam knew Dean was going to check out his injuries, and he wanted to see them for himself, but Dean was at his most stubborn when he was injured. For some reason, he wouldn't allow himself to be taken care of. Sam didn't know if it was some ridiculous macho thing, or if there was some other deep-seeded psychological reason for it. Their father had it too. Whatever it was, Sam decided to let Dean do whatever he deemed necessary. Tonight. Tomorrow, Sam was making the decisions.

"I'll get the bags, then I'll be right back," Sam told him.

Dean closed the door to the bathroom and leaned on the sink. He listened for Sammy leaving, then took the opportunity to get the noisy part of what he had to do out of the way while Sam wasn't around to hear it. He stumbled to the toilet and heaved his guts out. The act made his chest hurt even more, something Dean didn't even think was possible, given the pain he was in before. Breathing heavily, he couldn't help the tear that escaped from his eye.

Moving slowly and carefully, Dean stripped down to his boxers. He could tell he might be taking Sam up on that trip to the hospital if he saw the state he was in. His back, shoulders and most of his chest were covered in deep dark bruises. Purple, black, blue and red had all blended together to blanket the normal tone of Dean's skin. And this was only an hour after it had happened. The morning was not going to be pretty.

Then there was his beautiful face, one half covered in dried rusty blood. How many times had his skin been tainted with the crimson reminder of a hunt gone wrong? Dean turned on the tap and washed it off, every movement causing him more pain. That was when he first noticed it. He hadn't taken much notice of his arm, given that it didn't hurt as much as the rest of him, but when he saw the mark the demon had left on his wrist, he was almost sick again. It was not like a normal burn. It was a dark grey, and felt like dust to the touch. He knew that mark. He'd seen it before.

Burned onto his skin was a symbol. It was one line that started straight, then swirled back up. It looked something like a treble clef crossed with a dollar sign. But it was impossible. He'd finished it. He _ended _it. Nothing he'd said really mattered, because he'd iced that sucker eight-hundred freakin' days ago. Hadn't he?

"Dean, you okay in there?" Sam called.

It took a moment for Dean to register the question. "I'm fine, Sam," he replied without much belief in the statement. He carefully put his t-shirt back on. "You got the bandages?"

Sam rummaged through the bag where they kept all the first aid and found the bandages. "Yeah, here. Need some help?"

Dean opened the door only enough to take them. "No, I got it."

Sam sat on the bed and waited. He was going to do this, and he had to do it now, before he lost his nerve, before Dean had the chance to recover the strength to resolutely block all of Sam's questions. When Dean finally emerged, he'd wrapped his arm in a bandage and cleaned the blood from his face. He still looked like crap.

"We need to talk, don't you think?"

Dean walked over to his bed. "I need to sleep, Sam," he stated.

"This can't wait," Sam replied, resolutely.

Dean sighed. He'd been afraid of this.

"Who was that demon? Why did it want you? What the hell happened eight-hundred days ago and why won't you tell me about it?" Sam asked, the questions falling out of his mouth in a steady stream.

"Sam, I'm tired, okay?" Dean said, wearily. He was taking a risk, playing on Sam's concerns about his health, but it was the only defence he could think of in his weakened state. "I didn't sleep earlier and I just got propelled through ahouse. We'll talk in the morning."

"More like I'll talk and you'll avoid answering my questions," Sam corrected.

Dean could feel himself getting angrier. The pain, the fatigue, the fact that he'd just found out he was in serious shit, it was all mounting, and now Sam was topping it off by pushing him. "Just leave it alone. I mean it," he warned.

"No. You're keeping things from me and I'm sick of it. I don't care if you don't want to talk about the fight we had, or what you're so pissed about lately. But when I have a vision of you facing a demon, I need to know what's going on. How am I supposed to protect you if I don't know what I'm dealing with?"

"I don't know who or what that demon was, and I don't need your protection from anything," Dean lied, although he wasn't sure about which part.

"I don't believe you," Sam said, shaking his head. "I want answers, now."

"I don't owe you a goddamn thing." Dean regretted the scathing of his tone of his voice, but it was too late to take it back. Sam had pushed him too far. "You got no right to act like you give a rat's ass about me after what you did."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, confused but still holding onto his anger. Was this just another trick to avoid the subject or something else?

Dean closed his eyes. He really hadn't wanted to do this, but Sam was getting under his skin. If he really wanted to know, then Dean would tell him. He'd asked for it. "You left me, Sam. Again," he said, sitting up with his back to Sam.

"In Burkitsville? I thought we talked about that." Dean's words had shaken him. He hadn't been expecting them. "You said we were okay."

"Yeah, well I lied," Dean replied, turning. "You _abandoned_ me. Do you have any idea what it felt like the first time you did that? And did you honestly think you could do it again, then come back, and make it all better with some Hallmark crap about sticking together? Are you shitting me?"

"I...I'm sorry... I had no idea you felt that way." It was the truth. Damn, Dean was good at keeping his feelings under lock and key. The fight had been weeks ago. After Sam had told him that they should carry on together, Dean had just made some joke about it and got back in the car. This felt like it was totally out of the blue.

Dean laughed bitterly. "Of course you didn't. You're so wrapped up in your own little world. You know I was starting to think that maybe it didn't matter that dad didn't want me anymore. I mean, I had you. Then in the Roosevelt Asylum I started thinking maybe I was wrong about that too." He wanted to stop talking, but it was like he'd reached his limit and now the floodgates were open.

"Dean..." Sam uttered, but he didn't know what else to say. Dean's words were cutting him deep. He had never heard his brother talk like this. Sam had felt guilty about all the things he'd said in the asylum, but he'd apologised for them... Damn it, why hadn't he seen this coming, that things weren't okay?

"How do you expect me to talk to you again when you act like you give a shit about me one minute, then fuck off and leave me the next? So help me God, Sam, I would die for you, but I can't trust you. You screwed that up when you took off for California."

"I just wanted to find dad," Sam told him, but the anger had washed away in his voice. Now he was desperately trying to remember why it never occurred to him the effect his leaving would have had on Dean. "It was why you came and got me from Stanford. I guess I didn't expect you to stop wanting it."

"I didn't stop. I still want to find dad," Dean said quietly.

"Then why..."

"Because he didn't want me to find him. That phone call..." Dean began, the anger faded from his voice as well. He sat back down on the bed, facing away from Sam. "It felt like he abandoned me all over again. You know, I called him from Lawrence."

"You did?" Sam asked. Any evidence of his own anger had faded completely. Now his voice was filled with sadness and regret.

"He didn't even mention it," Dean told him, laughing bitterly. "No 'how did it go', no 'are you okay'. And then when you..." he trailed off and did not pick up his sentence, leaving the room in a profound silence.

"I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to say. Get some sleep," Dean said quietly. It had been building up for some time, but he didn't feel much better getting the rant off his chest. He wiped away the small amount of blood that had trickled from the corner of his mouth and lay back, reaching an arm over to turn off the light.

After a minute, Sam laid back on his own bed. "Dean...were you lying to me about the demon?"

Dean didn't reply for a few moments, and Sam thought he might have fallen asleep already. Until he heard; "Goodnight, Sam."

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Dean was trapped in the throes of a nightmare, except this bitch was real. It was a memory. John Winchester was talking to a bald man in his forties, and Dean was with him.

"_We lost our daughter recently. She was...she was hit by a car. The driver was never caught. Julie just fell apart. Do you think...do you think that's why this thing is attacking her?"_

"_It could be. Sometimes demons like to prey on the emotionally vulnerable. Souls weighed down by trauma."_

"_Can you stop it?"_

"_Yes, but we're going to need your help. And Julie's."_

Then the dream skipped forward, and Dean was screaming in pure perfect terror.

"_NO! Get away from him you son of a bitch!"_

Before it went any further, Dean woke up, still screaming. It took a moment to realise he was actually awake.

"Dean! Dean, it's okay, it was a nightmare!" Sam was on the side of the bed, holding his shoulders.

Dean was breathless, but he finally calmed down. He wiped his hand across his forehead and found he was practically dripping with sweat. His t-shirt was soaked with it. His eyes rested on Sam, whose lip was freshly cut and slightly swollen.

"Did I do that?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam told him, but did so with a smile to show there were no hard feelings. "You can still pack a punch even when you're asleep."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. What were you dreaming about?" Sam asked. He was usually the ones with nightmares, not Dean. When he'd woken to the sounds of Dean screaming his head off, he thought something was in the room, attacking him. It was disconcerting, seeing his brother so scared, even if it was while he was asleep.

Dean groaned and laid back on the bed when everything came back to him. The argument, the demon, the mark, the dream, and oh yes, that lovely pain, couldn't forget that. He had a feeling life was going to suck a little louder than usual today. He felt stupid for spilling his guts like he had. It wasn't in his nature, and Dean found himself wondering what John would have said if he'd seen the display of emotion.

"Where's the aspirin?" Dean asked. Maybe if he pretended it never happened, it would go away. _Yeah, 'cause that's always worked fantastically in the past._

Sam had prepared a couple and a glass of water and handed them over. "How are you feeling?" he asked, reluctantly accepting that Dean had ignored his previous question.

Dean opened his eyes fully when he remembered the hospital trip Sam had threatened him with. After last night, it was possible that Sam would cut him some slack and go back on the little deal, but Dean didn't want to take that chance. He still didn't want to go to the hospital. In fact, all he wanted to do was get in the car and drive. Fast.

"Better. Good. I feel good," he replied, getting up and trying to make it look like doing so didn't inspire a wave of nausea. "So we should get out of here."

Dean's sudden movement and desire to leave momentarily swayed Sam. "Woah, we're not going anywhere. I booked the motel for four days and nights, we can rest up here until you're better."

"I told you, I am better," Dean insisted, packing up his things. "Get your stuff, we gotta book."

Sam shook his head in confusion and didn't move from where he was standing. "Why?"

Dean stopped packing. "There's...you know, people to save. Good to be done, evil to...smite. Ringing any bells?"

"That stuff can wait. I don't think you'll be doing any 'smiting' in your state. It's either the hospital, or we're staying right here."

Dean grimaced. Neither option sounded particularly appealing, but how could he convince Sam of that? What was he supposed to say? The truth? Yeah, that would go down well. After all, how did you tell your baby brother that you sold your soul to the devil and it was on its was to collect?

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End of Chapter Four  
Next Chapter: But No-One Said It'd Be This Hard


	5. But No One Said It'd Be This Hard

NOTES: You'll get your answers eventually, I promise, but in the meantime - Dean is squirming and stubborn and Sam is getting fed up with it. So, more of the same, really! Enjoy! 

CHAPTER FIVE  
But No-One Said It'd Be This Hard  
-----------------

Dean was fighting a losing battle. He wanted to get out of there, but since telling the truth was out of the question, he really didn't have much material to work with, other than: "For the last time, Sam, there is nothing wrong with me, I can handle myself, and I am absolutely, positively, utterly _fine_. Now can we go?"

Sam stared at his brother for a few seconds before making his decision. Dean was acting like last night didn't happen, which Sam wasn't especially surprised about. It was typical defensive behaviour that he had picked up from John. Sam had it too, to a lesser degree. There wasn't really a way to combat it, but in this case, Sam decided that playing along would be the best course of action. If it never happened, then Dean obviously did want any pity.

"Alright," Sam began, taking a pen from his pocket. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but Dean had left him no choice.

Dean squinted suspiciously at his brother. From his tone, it hadn't sounded much like a submission. So much for being raw from last night. _Oh wait, that never happened._

"You're fine?" Sam asked him rhetorically. He tossed the pen onto the floor, and it landed in the space between them. "Okay. Pick that up."

Dean twitched. He hoped to god Sam hadn't seen it, but he couldn't help himself. When did his little brother get the attitude? Because it sure as hell hadn't been there last time he looked. _I must be a bad influence, _Dean decided.

"Hand me the pen, and I'll believe you," Sam dared.

"Need to write a shopping list, Samantha?" Dean said, unintentionally pouting.

"Quit stalling," Sam bit back. "I'm not kidding around. Pick it up, or you're not going anywhere."

Dean tore his eyes from Sam's defiant gaze and looked at the pen. It rested only a metre or two from his feet but it seemed to get further away the more he looked at it. _You can do it._ _It's just a stupid pen, _Dean told himself, aware of Sam's eyes glaring into him, all superior and pleased with himself.

_Pick it up the damn pen and we can all be on our merry way._

Never one to back down from a challenge, _especially_ one from his little brother, Dean took a step forward. Then another.

_See, this is easy. Nothin' to it. Now just bend down..._

Easier than it sounded. Dean's ribs were beat to hell, and so was the rest of him. It hurt to breathe, let alone undergo the colossal task of actually retrieving something from the floor.

Dean smiled a fake smile and tried to make out it wasn't a big deal. _It's not a big deal. Just a stupid pen. You can pick it up now. Any time now._

"This is so petty, you know that?" he said, looking back up at Sam.

Sam shrugged, well aware that his plan was working, and that Dean was buying for time. Unfortunately for him, Sam had all the time in the world. "Humour me."

_Okay, here we go, _Dean thought, his eyes falling back on the pen._ Just a pen. Just a stupid pen._

He cleared his throat and stole another glance at Sam. The smug look on his face was enough to urge him on. There was no way he, Dean Winchester, was backing down from a challenge. He took a deep breath.

_Ow._

And started to bend down.

_Ow ow ow... _

His knees were bent and his back was curved. It was taking a great deal of self-restraint not to curse his head off.

_Oh dear god. _

Dean was finally in a pen-grabbing position. His ribs were on fire, his muscles seizing in complaint.

_Oh sweet Jesus..._

He reached with his right hand, the hand that wasn't cradling his poor ribs, and stretched for the pen. Success! Dean's moment of triumph was fleeting, however, as he quickly remember he had to stand back up again.

_Son of a bitch!_

Knowing Sammy was watching, analysing his every move, he looked up again and gave him a smile. Well, close enough, anyway. _This is ridiculous. You're Dean Winchester! This is not a challenge for you. This is pathetic._

Dean had always been his own worst critic. Deciding just to get it over with, to show himself and Sam that he was absolutely fine (which he was, not only fine but dandy too), Dean pushed off from the floor and stood up in one grand movement. Sighing with satisfaction, he took two shaky steps towards Sam.

"See? Piece of cake," Dean grinned, handing over the pen.

Then he promptly collapsed.

Sam caught Dean on the way down, having expected something to the effect. There were very few ways of dealing with Dean when he was being so stubborn, but it seemed Sam had found a brand new one. Sure, he was feeling pretty guilty about it already, but Dean had forced his hand.

In a combination of dragging and heaving, Sam pulled an unconscious Dean back onto the bed. He was out cold, sweating and breathing heavily. Sam decided while he was riding the guilt train, he might as well take a look at Dean's injuries so he could make an assessment that wasn't a stubborn self-diagnosis.

Dean didn't complain when Sam carefully lifted Dean's t-shirt. He really was out cold. A curse escaped Sam's mouth when he saw the shroud of bruises that wrapped Dean's chest and back. A moment of anger swelled, first directed at Dean for saying he was fine, and then at himself for not insisting they go to the hospital.

Pulling the t-shirt back down, Sam's attention switched to Dean's wrist. He hadn't seen exactly what had happened to it, but the bandage wasn't exactly wrapped very well, since Dean must have done it with one hand. Sam got a fresh one ready and removed the old one.

He was met with a disturbing sight. Besides looking as though the wound hurt like a son of a bitch, a large black symbol was burned onto Dean's wrist. What the hell was this? Now Sam was really pissed off. Dean had to have seen this. Just what was he thinking, keeping something like this to himself?

Sam's anger trip was halted when a sudden spark of recognition interrupted it. He'd seen the symbol before...somewhere recently...shit, where had he...the journal! Sam scrambled for the journal and found the entries he had been looking at after he'd had his vision. On the opposite page to the three entries from eight-hundred odd days ago, a symbol was roughly sketched. The same symbol as on Dean's wrist.

Sam had missed it before, thinking it was unrelated to the entries, but apparently this wasn't the case. Instead of dwelling on annoyance at John's inability to organise his scribbles, Sam thought positive. This, at least, was something to go on. The first of the three entries involved a poltergeist. They didn't tend to use symbols, so that left the other two entries; the Braken and this cult. Sam finished wrapping Dean's bandage and opened his laptop. He had work to do.

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Dean heard himself groan as he awoke once again from a deep sleep. Thankfully this time his nightmares had not followed into the waking world. For a while he just lie there, awake, remembering. That damn pen...that stunt was low, and Dean had fallen for it. _Note to self; next time don't play the game._

"Sleep well?" Sam said, his voice laced with smugness. But there was something else there too. Was it anger?

Dean could hear Sam typing and looked over. Sam didn't return his gaze, supporting the 'anger' theory. "Great, thanks for that," he replied sarcastically. "You didn't even need that pen, did you?" he said, trying to raise a smile from the younger Winchester. No such luck.

"So, this Braken demon..." Sam said, still not looking up.

If Dean had been moving in the slightest, he would have frozen. As it happened, it hurt too much to move, so his reaction was encompassed by a slight dilation of the pupils, and his breath catching in his throat. It did not go unnoticed.

"Yeah, I thought you might say that," Sam continued, when Dean replied with silence. "I saw the symbol on your arm."

Dean lifted his injured arm and sure enough, a fresh bandage was wrapped around his wrist. Shit. How much did Sam know?

"You wanna tell me exactly what it is, and what it has to do with you?"

_Not much then, _Dean thought, answering his own question.

It was true, Sam had been researching all night, but found very little on the demon. He had, however, decided that the Braken demon was the winner. Sam had contacted Peter Graves, the man who called John about the cult in North Adams. He remembered nothing about any weird symbols. He had, however, given Sam some other interesting information.

After Sam had established that he wasn't a nutcase or a prank caller, and that he really was John Winchester's son, he and Graves had talked about how he had come to know John, and about the cult job.

"John and Dean really helped me out," Graves had said, after it had been established that he knew nothing about any symbols. "They saved the whole damn town, and I was the only one who could thank them for doing it. Hell, they were exhausted when they got here, let alone when they were done. Seems like a raw deal."

Sam's interest peaked. "Exhausted?"

"Yeah," Graves continued. "They stayed at my Inn for two weeks while they worked on the case and most of the time…well, when they weren't hunting, they were fighting. And when they weren't hunting or fighting…"

"What?" Sam pushed. Graves hesitated, so Sam urged him on. "Please, Dean's in trouble. I think something happened to him before he came to you. Anything you can tell me would be a great help."

"Well…downstairs I run the bar. Dean was there a lot of the time. John had to drag him back to his room on more than one night. Look, I'm not trying to judge or anything, I'd be a rambling cult member or even dead if it weren't for your dad. I just got the feeling they had…you know, issues."

Sam wasn't sure how to feel about that particular information. Dean and John never fought. About anything. Even if he did disagree with John, Dean would never let it show. He was too well-trained for that. Sam couldn't believe how much his brother had changed in the past twenty-four hours. It was fucking scary.

Sam wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "Do you know what they fought about?"

"The walls are pretty thin at my place," Graves replied, grimly.

"Is that a yes? Was it about a job?" Sam asked eagerly.

Graves sighed on the other end of the phone. "No. It was you, Sam. They fought about you."

Sam snapped himself back to reality. Dean had just woken up, and he wasn't going to get away with lying about what was going on. No matter what new information Sam had learned since his brother had fallen asleep.

"Dean?" Sam pressed. "Talk to me."

"It's just a demon," Dean told him feebly. Damn it, it just wasn't fair to ask him questions when he'd just woken up. Especially when Sam was the one who put him to sleep in the first place.

"If it was just a demon, you would have told me about it," Sam argued. "And we would have killed it."

"I thought I did. Back when it was just me and dad. Maybe it's not even the same one. I don't know, okay?" Dean muttered. He really didn't know, and didn't want to. But the visit from the so-called 'messenger' had unsettled him. It had sent himself back to hell, which was exactly where it lived. Kind of a pointless incantation, really...more of a free ride home.

"Why the hell you didn't tell me you'd been _marked _by the thing?" Sam demanded to know.

"It wasn't the Braken that marked me. It was something else, a…messenger," Dean told him. Maybe if Sam heard the bare bones of it, he'd be satisfied and leave it alone.

"A messenger...did it give you a message?" Sam asked. From Dean, the journal and his own research, the pieces of the puzzle were tiny and didn't fit together. Why was Dean making this so difficult?

"Look, how about we have this conversation on the road?" Dean proposed with minimal hope.

"I told you, no. We had a deal, or did you think I'd forgotten?"

"As I recall," Dean said, attempting to swing his legs to hang over the side of the bed. "You challenged me to pick up the pen and give it to you, which I did. Just because I happened to pass out afterwards, doesn't mean I did not succeed," he finished adamantly.

Sam wasn't buying into any of it. "Semantics. We're not going anywhere, so drop it and answer the question," he stated firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes. He finally managed to bring his legs to dangle over the bed, and sit upright. "You know what it told me. 'Time's up'. Not very original, if you ask me."

"So you met this thing eight-hundred days ago, right?" Sam questioned. He had not given up on getting information about this thing. He would protect Dean even if he didn't want protecting.

"Brilliant, Sammy, really."

"And what, it has some kind of grudge against you?"

_You could say that, _Dean thought to himself. "Well, I did banish it from existence. Or at least, I thought I did."

Sam's eyes narrowed. Dean had said 'I' a lot. If he was hunting with dad, he would have said 'we'. "What did dad think?"

Dean was already tiring of the interrogation. It was better if Sammy didn't know the truth about what happened back then, and what was happening now, but the man was relentless. All Dean could do was stall. "Can we get something to eat? I'm starved."

Sam considered the request, suspecting that Dean was only making it to stall for a little longer. But he hadn't eaten much, so Sam decided to indulge him for a short while. "Fine," he finally agreed.

Dean sighed with relief. Finally, Sam had replied with something other than a question. Somehow he had a feeling it wouldn't last.

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End of Chapter Five  
Next Chapter: Hide & Seek


	6. Hide & Seek

NOTES: I tried to update yesterday but couldn't get online - plus life is sucking out loud lately! But here we are, if a little late! Much thanks for the feedback, I can't believe I'm almost at a hundred! Wow! 

CHAPTER SIX  
Hide & Seek  
-----------------

The diner was just as busy as it had been the first time they went in. It was lunchtime now. Dean had been asleep most of the night and after he'd passed out, most of the morning. He'd truly needed it, but Sam couldn't help but notice he still wasn't looking very well-rested.

They asked for some coffee and waited for someone to take their order, but neither started up a conversation. Dean appeared to be waiting for Sam to ask another question, most likely so he could shoot it down.

Sam was too busy thinking. Dean didn't trust him anymore, and besides breaking Sam's heart, it was going to make getting information about this demon hugely difficult. Sam didn't like it, but it was time to change tactics, and consider other options. There was one source he hadn't tapped yet. Just thinking about Sam made him uneasy, but this was Dean. He would have to bite the bullet and call John. Their father was the only one who could give Sam new information about what happened eight hundred odd days ago.

"Don't call him," Dean suddenly said, out of the blue. "He won't pick up anyway."

"Then there's no harm in calling, is there?" Sam replied. He wasn't hugely surprised by the fact that Dean seemed to be able to read him so well sometimes. Sam could do it too on occasion. He guessed it was a brother thing.

"I mean it, Sam. Don't."

Sam considered this new piece of the puzzle. There had been fear alongside the threat, as well as a hint of sadness. Dean didn't want him to call their father. This probably meant that whatever happened back then, John didn't know about it. And he probably wouldn't have approved of it if he had. This didn't bode well.

"You're not exactly giving me much of a choice," Sam countered. "I need to know what happened and you're not going to tell me."

Dean swore under his breath. He hated Sam logic. Sam logic made his brain hurt.

"Look, I'm sorry that you don't trust me anymore," Sam began, causing Dean to look away. "I left you and I can't change that, but _I came back_. And I'm going to try and make it better, but if you don't tell me what's going on, that's going to be difficult."

Dean considered his options and finally submitted. "Fine. You got me. I'll tell you, just…just don't call dad."

"Okay," Sam said, pleased that he was finally making progress.

"It's a long story," Dean began with a sigh. Then smirked ever so slightly. "So, I'm gonna go to the bathroom before I start. Get me some more coffee will ya?"

Sam watched him go with disgust, knowing exactly what he was up to.

Dean knew it was pathetic really, one last stall, one last shot at something else coming up to distract Sam from his unyielding quest for answers. An earthquake, a swarm of locusts, another vision (unrelated, of course), anything would do.

Dean was just wondering if he could pay a waitress to tip coffee over Sam's lap when he reached the bathroom. It was empty. He didn't really need to go, so he leaned over the sink and stared at his reflection. He was going to have to tell Sam something. It didn't necessarily have to be the whole truth.

_Come on, Dean, you're a world-class bullshitter. Just do what you do best._

But it wasn't that simple. He hadn't technically lied yet, but it had surprised him how wrong he'd felt just keeping things from Sam. Dean had tried to keep telling himself that it was for the best, that he was protecting Sammy, like he'd been protecting John. Protecting them both from his stupid mistake.

"_A mistake. Is that what you call it?"_

Dean almost leaped out of his own skin at the voice that seemed to penetrate his skull. It was inhuman, evil and unfortunately, it was familiar.

"_I'm hurt. Did our deal mean that little to you?"_

Searching the restrooms for the source of the voice, Dean could see nothing. There was no-one there. "I can't be you. I killed you," he told the empty room. The voice inside his head was scratching behind his eyes, and making his skin crawl. He wanted it out, he wanted it to just stop, but he had no weapons and nothing to aim them at.

"_Well that just isn't true, now is it? But you already knew that. You remember everything that happened that night."_

"Yeah, I remember," Dean answered, surprised by how strained his voice sounded. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't."

Laughter. Sickening laughter erupted inside his head.

"_That's why I'm going to enjoy this, Dean. You're different. Even now, when you've got no power over me, you're still hoping you can stop this. I can feel it inside you."_

It wasn't a lie. Dean wanted to run, to get a weapon, to fight, but he couldn't do anything. He could barely see straight with this _thing _inside his head. With every second it stayed in there, it stole his strength and it was working on his sanity.

"About that," Dean managed to spit out. "You want to get the hell out of my head? I know you can manifest, so why don't you show me that ugly face of yours."

"_Just look in the mirror."_

Dean knew it was no childish barb. Despite his blurred vision caused by the intense pain he was subject to, he could see the Braken's disgusting guise where his own reflection should have been. It was surrounded by a dark grey haze, like dust, which moved continuously around it. He could only catch glimpses of the vile face underneath it. The eyes were like flame, with a stare that burned into him.

"_Time's up, Dean._"

The mirror shattered as the Braken shot through it, knocking Dean from his feet and showering him with broken glass. The demon's black shroud wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him to the floor, its body half-floating.

Dean had little time to make sense of the physical pain the fall had caused him, because what came next overshadowed anything he had ever felt. The Braken screamed inside his head, screamed so loudly that Dean could have sworn his ears were bleeding.

His eyes were screwed shut, trying desperately to shut out the agonising din, but Dean could feel something else happening to him. Something was being _taken _from him, ripped from him, and it hurt like nothing he had ever experienced. His surroundings, the diner, Sam, the rest of the people outside, _reality_, it all left him while the Braken maintained its attack. Dean knew he should be passing out, maybe even dying, but he the demon wouldn't let him. Dean was forced to feel every second of what was happening.

Then it stopped. The Braken disappeared, and the screaming ceased, and Dean heard its parting words inside his head.

"_I'm going to take my time, Dean. I'm going to make this _last_. I'll be seeing you again."_

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_

Sam drummed his fingers on the table as he wait for Dean to return, wondering if he would start lying again when he did.

The same waitress that served them before, Anne, refilled their coffees. "You boys in town long?" she asked with a friendly smile.

"A couple of days," Sam told her, glancing at the restroom door.

"You're brothers, right?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Oh, I can tell," Anne said. "I got brothers of my own."

"You want to take mine off my hands?" Sam joked with a weary smile.

Anne laughed too, and they made small-talk for a little while. Sam had almost forgotten what it was like to have a normal, pleasant conversation after a string of decidedly abnormal and unpleasant ones. But Sam's mind soon began to drift back to Dean. He'd been gone a long time, and call it paranoia, but Sam's annoyance was slowly being replaced with concern.

"Well, I'll wait until your brother comes back to take your order, okay hun?"

Sam smiled politely. "Sure."

That's when he heard it. When everyone heard it. A terrifying, gut-wrenching scream. And it was unmistakably Dean's.

Sam was out of the booth and sprinting towards the horrifying sound faster than lightning. When he reached the door, the screaming stopped. The only noise came from concerned mutterings from the people outside, a few of them warily moving forward to see the cause when Sam pushed the door open. He was terrified at what he might find. He'd never heard Dean scream like that. It had been so raw, so terrorized.

Sam's breath left his body when he saw Dean lying still on the floor. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees beside his brother, broken glass cutting into his jeans. "Dean? Dean? What happened?"

Dean was awake, his eye were open but they weren't focusing on anything. His breaths came out in short gasps. He was just lying there, completely paralysed with shock, terror in his eyes. "Dean, answer me!"

"Is he alright? Should we call an ambulance?" Anne asked from the doorway, clearly upset by the situation.

Sam only barely registered the question. He was waiting for Dean to give him some kind of sign to show that he was okay. "No...no, I'll take him to the hospital myself," he told her, wishing to god he'd just driven Dean to the hospital straight from the house.

"What's wrong with him? Is he okay?" Sam heard someone else say. He knew that if they hadn't done so already, someone would probably call an ambulance soon. "He's gets...seizures sometimes. He'll be fine," Sam said behind him, to no-one in particular.

"Dean? Can you hear me? It's Sam. I'm right here, okay?" he assured, hoping that even if Dean couldn't reply, he at least knew that Sam was nearby.

Slowly, merciful, Dean's eyes drifted to Sam's. "Sam?" he whispered, horror still evident in his trembling voice. "What's going on?"

Sam closed his eyes, his panic appeased for a brief moment. Dean was still with him. "It's alright, we're gonna get out of here, okay? Can you move?" he asked, ready to give aid or carry him to the car, whatever Dean needed.

Dean looked unsure. Like he hadn't actually tried to move since...since whatever had happened to him. "I don't know."

"Alright, I'm going to help you up, you ready?"

Dean gave a slight nod, still confused and scared as hell, and Sam helped his brother to his feet for the second time in as many days. Dean was leaning heavily on him, but seemed to have some of his strength left. They awkwardly walked out of the rest rooms, ignoring the onlookers and their murmurs. Sam stopped briefly to hand over some money to Anne for the coffee they'd had, and she told him the way to get to the hospital. He even smiled falsely, thanked her, and left the diner, feeling the stares of thirty odd people on his back.

Sam once again found himself helping Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala. He'd considered getting their things from the room and leaving the motel behind, but decided against it, the main reason being that he didn't want to let Dean out of his sight. Sam made sure Dean was fully in the car and went to close the door, when Dean spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly Sam almost didn't hear it. "I'm sorry about everything. You deserved a normal life. I was selfish to want you back, to ask you to come."

Sam stared at him, puzzled. What the hell was this? A dying declaration? "Don't try to talk, okay? I'll get you to the hospital."

"You're worth more than this, more than me," Dean told him with a shaky voice.

"Don't say that," Sam asserted, but feeling helpless. All he could do was drive to the hospital, and there was no reason to think that they would even be able to do anything but check Dean's physical injuries. Sam doubted it had been physical pain that caused the horrifying scream that had torn from Dean's throat, but what else was he supposed to do?

"Just...just hold on," Sam told Dean after starting up the Impala, unsure if he was talking to Dean or to himself.

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End of Chapter Six  
Next Chapter: Deal


	7. Deal

NOTES: Wow I got over a hundred reviews! I'm totally amazed, that's was like my personal little target to beat! I guess I'll try and make it to 150 now. In unrealted notings, I won't be seeing any of season two for a while as it hasn't aired in the UK yet :( so I hope nothing happens that turns the rest of the fic on its head! 

CHAPTER SEVEN  
Deal  
-----------------

Dean was tired. Scratch that, he was beyond tired, but he wasn't entirely sure he was awake enough to be tired in the first place. Everything felt unreal. If time was passing, he wasn't aware of it. He couldn't move, and he couldn't see. He just felt...he felt _wrong_.

Memories slipped by him but did not linger. The motel, the pen, Sam's vision, the diner...the diner, something had happened there. Something bad. _Broken glass, lying on the cold floor, that awful screaming_... Panic rose in Dean's chest when he remembered that sound, but not what it related to.

"Sam?" he found himself calling. If he was hurting, maybe Sammy was hurt too.

"I'm right here, Dean."

Dean relaxed at the sound of Sam's voice, and tried to concentrate on getting his senses to relay information to him. Blurred images started to bleed through his vision, but they were moving too fast to make out. He could hear the background drone of an engine and realised he was in the Impala. It soothed him to be somewhere familiar.

"Don't worry, we're almost at the hospital."

"No hospital," Dean heard himself say, his own voice sounding distant.

"What happened back there?" Sam asked, ignoring the plea.

"_I'm going to take my time, Dean. I'm going to make this _last_."_

The memory of the words attacked Dean like a punch to the gut, waking him up. The Braken had found him. He remembered it now, the horrible screaming, the overwhelming pain of the attack. The Braken had ripped a part of his soul from his body, and at that moment he realised he could feel the empty void that had been left in its wake.

"_I'll be seeing you again."_

It was going to come back, and the next time would be worse. Dean didn't know if he could go through that again. All he knew was that the situation was not something that would just go away. He was in serious trouble and terrified of facing the Braken again. The thought of sharing the burden and letting Sam in was truly tempting.

"Dean? You with me?"

"Yeah, I'm with you." _I'm getting there._

"The Braken found you, didn't it?" Sam asked, fury and fear battling for pride of place in his voice. "What did it do to you?"

Dean didn't know what to say. He knew how selfish it would be to put Sam at risk, but God, he wanted nothing more than to spill it all and have Sam right there with him. He'd even take some of that Hallmark crap he had been so dismissive of. Sam seemed eager to regain his trust, so maybe this was an opportunity. Maybe they really could handle it together. But the wounds from recent events ran deep, deeper than Sam knew. It wasn't as simple as just telling him what was going on.

"I don't know. I think...I think it fed on me," Dean told him, hoping in vain to somehow soften the statement by claiming he wasn't sure.

There was silence while the words sank in."Fed on you...on your _soul_?" Sam breathed in horror. "But...I mean, you're still...you're alright, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Dean answered weakly. He wanted to add something, to mention that the Braken hadn't taken it all, that it had said it would be back, and that it would make it _last_, and that he was scared shitless right now But he didn't. "I'm fine." It slipped out before he could stop it. He had fallen back on his default defence of denying anything was wrong even though everything was.

"Fine?" Sam repeated incredulously. "How can you be fine?"

"I don't know. I just am." Dean didn't know why he was lying, but he couldn't seem to stop. Maybe it was because there were no words to describe the way he was feeling. Before Sam could respond, he added; "Find a motel. I don't need a hospital."

"Dean, you're not fine. We're going to the hospital," Sam asserted. "I should have taken you before."

"Look," Dean replied. "I can tell you right now no doctor is going to be able to do a damn thing for me. I don't need a hospital," Dean told him, annoyance slipping wantonly into his tone.

Sam returned it in abundance. "No, _you _look. Youscared the crap out of me. You leave to go to the bathroom and five minutes later you're screaming the place down, catatonic on the floor after having your _soul _sucked out by a demon that marked you and oh, that I had a vision about. All of which could have been prevented if you had just told me what the hell was going on from the get go." Sam paused only for a brief second intake of breath. "So don't tell me what to do, because your decisions lately have SUCKED. We're _going _to the hospital because _I'm_ driving and _I'm _calling the shots."

Dean stared at Sam for a while, processing the outburst. He wanted to ask Sam what he meant about him screaming. Dean remembered the awful sound, but had it really come from his own throat? The possibility that he could have lost control like that scared him. As for the rest of the speech that had turned Sam a bright shade of red and made the veins in his neck pop out, Dean was actually impressed. Proud, even. He still wasn't happy about the idea about going to the hospital, but he supposed he did need time to think about what to do.

"Thanks, for coming in when you did," Dean said, an onset of guilt surfacing. "And sorry I'm such a pain in the ass sometimes."

Sam's grip on the steering wheel loosened a little and his white knuckles started to get some colour back. He looked back at Dean. "Sometimes?"

Dean smirked. They had called an unspoken truce. For the time being.

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"Hi, my name is Sam Connor, this is my brother Dean," Sam told the elderly receptionist when they finally made it to the hospital. "We were hitchhiking and he fell off the back of a moving truck."

It was the only explanation Sam could think of that was even remotely plausible and vaguely consistent with Dean's physical injuries. He'd thought of it in the car earlier, when Dean had been out of it.

The woman behind the desk, a short, plump brunette with glasses, smiled at them. "Someone will see you in just a moment," she said, gesturing to the chairs opposite her desk.

"Hitchhiking?" Dean repeated with disdain. "Dude, do I look like a hitchhiker?"

"No, you look like a junkie who's been beaten up and deprived of sleep for a week, so quit complaining," Sam shot back. "Besides, would you rather I told them the truth?" He knew the air between them was volatile but he figured if he acted like nothing was wrong, maybe it would feel like that was the case.

Dean said nothing, just went back to brooding.

A short while later, a doctor appeared. He took Dean to an exam room, but not before calling another doctor to look at Sam's numerous cuts and scrapes from the broken glass. Sam wasn't happy about letting Dean out of sight again so soon, but the other doctor had told him it was necessary for exams to take place privately. It made him feel like a kid again, the way the doctor spoke to him. He half expected a lollipop for finally cooperating. Sam could have sworn he'd caught Dean smirking at him throughout the brief argument.

"So, hitchhiking, huh?" the female doctor asked Sam when they were alone in the suture room. Presumably she was trying and put him at ease while she sewed up a few of the deeper cuts Sam had acquired. "Not the safest of pastimes, is it?"

"Guess not," Sam muttered, aware that he was being brusque. There were more important things on his mind than being polite to someone he would never see again.

Dean was still keeping things from him, and it was driving Sam crazy, not to mention upping his stress levels. Sure, Dean had told him that it was the Braken, but that was it. Some details might have been helpful, like, if it took some of his soul, why didn't it take it all? Was the Braken going to come back? Sam's mind kept coming back to those words in dad's journal; '_Soul Eater'._ He shuddered. How could Dean claim he was 'fine' after something like that happened to him?

Sam wished, like he tended to on the odd occasion, that he could worry about things normal people worried about. What to wear on a fancy restaurant, or who to invite to a party, or whatever the hell it was normal people his age were spending their time caring about. But no. Sam Winchester was worrying about a soul sucking demon and what exactly it had against his brother.

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"You appear to have more than a few older injuries that are still healing. Some scarring too," Doctor Thorne said to Dean, finishing up his examination.

It had been more a statement of fact, but Dean knew the doc wanted an explanation. They always wanted to know everything about what was none of their business. "Yeah, well me and my brother go hitchhiking a lot. Gets rough sometimes." The hitchhiking idea was actually a pretty good one, Dean had to admit.

"Between the two of you, or between the two of you and other people?" the Doc asked.

Dean laughed a little at his tact, or lack thereof. "Usually the latter."

"And the former?" Thorne pushed, but not too hard. "I notice he wasn't quite as beat up as you are."

Dean stared at the man, not wanting to let his guard down. "I fell off a truck."

"Sure you did," the Doctor agreed, in a way that left it open for debate.

"Trust me, doc, the only thing me and my brother trade is verbal daggers every now and then,"Dean assured. "And those little Pogs, remember those? Of course, that was a while back." There was that humour defence mechanism rearing its head again. Dean had been wondering where it had got to.

"Alright," Thorne submitted, smiling. "As long as you know anything you say here will be held in the strictest confidence. I'm not trying to get anyone into trouble."

"Thanks." Dean didn't know what it was, but he kind of liked this guy. "But I'm fine."

"Okay, well you've got some cracked ribs and bruised kidneys. Unfortunately there's not a lot I can do about that except prescribe some painkillers for you. As for the knock to the head..."

"It's nothing, really, I'm fine. Just tell my brother that, would ya?"

"Let me guess. You're the type who hates hospitals and doctors, and you won't stick around for any tests that take longer than an hour to wait for. Am I right?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "One hundred percent." Yep, he definitely liked this guy. So maybe it was ninety-nine percent after all.

"I'd like to put a couple of stiches in just to be..." the Doctor trailed off when the lights in the room flickered, then shut off completely. "Hmm, must be an power outage. We have emergency generators, nothing to worry about."

Dean wasn't so calm. Power cuts in the world of the Winchester family tended to be ample reason to not only worry, but board up the windows and get a shotgun. As it turned out, this time was no exception. Dean shuddered as the room grew colder, and his skin began to crawl.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Thorne asked, but his voice was no longer his own. "You aren't afraid of the dark, are you?"

Dean looked into Thorne's eyes and saw the familiar grey shroud of the Braken writhing in them. "You..."

"You know, this guy really isn't my type," Thorne said with the Braken inside him. "He's got a good job, loves his wife, has a good home. He's not nearly as interesting as you are."

"So is this a business trip or are you just coming onto me?" Dean said with little humour. His voice was the only thing under his control; the rest of his body was paralysed.

Thorne laughed. "You really are something else. Even after what I took, you're still fighting. I don't think that's very fair. You promised me your soul and in exchange I did what you asked of me."

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "But I didn't say anything about liking it."

The Braken was not amused. "I held up my end of the bargain, and you cheapen our deal with notions of defiance? I'm not impressed."

"If you didn't want a fight, you picked the wrong guy," Dean informed the Braken, but he had the feeling he didn't sound very tough, what with being paralysed and at the demon's complete mercy.

"Funny you should say that."A hint of a smile flickered of the corner of Thorne's mouth. "I was thinking the same thing."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, fear brewing inside him.

Thorne stood up and paced the room. "I've been watching you since my messenger marked you. You exceeded my expectations. I mean, I was happy with you eight-hundred days ago, but the development since then is more than I could have hoped for..." He stopped pacing and turned towards Dean. "Then I noticed your brother."

Dean swore he felt his heart stop.

Thorne grinned unnaturally at the reaction he had surely been hoping for. "Now he's _interesting_."

"You stay the hell away from my brother," Dean warned, his words a mixture of fury and fear.

"You know I was thinking of making him the same deal I made with you," the Braken inquired, knowing full well he had complete power over the situation. "A father for a son, a brother for a brother. I mean, it's almost poetic..."

"Don't," Dean whispered, tears building up in his eyes at the terror of the threat.

"Dean, my boy. What are you going to do to stop me?"

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End of Chapter Seven  
Next Chapter: Something to Someone


	8. Something to Someone

NOTES: As always, thanks for the comments, and welcome newbies! Well, it's flashback time but don't worry, there's still a whole lot of torment and angsty goodness to come after this chapter! 

CHAPTER EIGHT  
Something to Someone  
-----------------

Sam was sitting in reception, twirling his cell phone between his fingers when the lights went out. He didn't need psychic powers to tell him it was a bad sign. He leaped out of his seat, drawing the attention of the receptionist.

"Which room is my brother in?" he asked her urgently.

The woman smiled condescendingly. "I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

Sam was in no mood to be talked down to. "Which room?" he demanded with a little more force.

"Exam four," she replied, clearly offended. "Down the hall. But you can't...!"

Sam was already running. When he found the room he burst in without knocking, the exact moment the lights came back on. Dr. Thorne and Dean turned to meet his gaze. Everything seemed fine.

"Ah, Sam," Thorne greeted. "I was just telling your brother I'd like to put a couple of stiches in the wound on his head, then he'll be free to go."

"Dean?" Sam inquired. He needed reassurance from the source, not from a doctor he'd never met.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean told him, knowing exactly what he wanted. "Go wait outside, I'll be out in a minute."

Sam nodded and left.

"Well, he's jumpy," Thorne joked lightly, and began sewing up Dean's head wound. There was no trace of the Braken left in his eyes, and seemingly, no memory remained of the possession.

"He's protective," Dean said. That was the problem, and Dean knew it. If the Braken carried out its threat to offer Sam a trade; a brother for a brother, Dean knew that he would take it. He would take it because Dean would do exactly the same.

He knew what he had to do.

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"Everything okay?" Sam asked, when Dean finally left Dr. Thorne's clutches.

"Fine. Got enough drugs to keep me going for a month. That junkie comment wasn't some kind of psychic prediction was it?" Dean joked, testing Sam's mood. Sam didn't show any signs of amusement but that wasn't unusual. The brothers didn't always share the same kind of humour. "So, you happy now?" he continued. "Am I permitted to leave, mighty one?"

That raised a smile. "Well, since you've been well-behaved," Sam started, pretending to consider the request, "I suppose we can hit the road."

The sun was still shining outside, but both brothers were tired after the recent events. Sam insisted on driving, but since he had agreed to look for a motel so they could crash for a while, Dean didn't complain. Besides, he'd never admit it, but Sammy wasn't all that bad at driving his baby.

They drove in silence, until Dean decided to break it. "So me and dad were in Bridgestone. One of dad's friends, from before he met mom, called him up. Tobias Copperton."

Sam seemed surprised that Dean was actually talking, and he shut up, fearing that any questions would somehow scare away the truth just as it was passing Dean's lips.

"The Braken had marked his wife, Julie. Me and dad did a little research, found a banishing ritual that would send this thing back to where it came from, and waited for it to show up. Only it didn't exactly go to plan..."

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_Bridgestone - May 10th_ _2003_ _- 9.44pm_

Tobias Copperton was a tall, balding man in his forties. He lived in a suit and tie. Dean couldn't picture the man and his father as ever being friends. But sometimes Dean forgot about all the time that went before, a time when John was a normal person, without a family, without the weight of love and loss.

The Copperton's house was so immaculate it looked as if it was the set of a TV show. Dean half-expected the fruit that sat in the middle of the table to be made of wax. The only humanising element of the sterile space was a box of colourful children's toys that say in a corner. It was sad to think there was no longer a child to play with them. The Copperton's daughter had died in a car accident only a month prior to their visit.

"Is she going to be alright?" Tobias asked, breaking the silence as they waited for the Braken to show itself. "If you kill this thing...will she get better?"

John sat next to Dean on the sofa of the living room, ritual incantations and shotguns at the ready. He sighed. "We're going to kill it. But I think Julie will need a little more time to get better. She's lost someone she loves. That pain doesn't go away easily."

"I know. I miss Alice every day, but Julie..." Tobias trailed of, sadly. "I wish there was more I could do."

"Everybody grieves in their own way," John said after a while.

Dean watched his father shift uncomfortably and knew why. The man wasn't exactly an expert on grief. Hell, if he had been, maybe his sons wouldn't be so screwed up. Maybe they would be able to talk about things instead of having constant arguments that eventually lead on one party running away and the other telling them to never come back.

Dean was still sore about Sam leaving. He didn't think he'd ever get over it. It felt like a knife in the heart every time he even thought about it. It wasn't just Sam that made him angry, it was John too. Both of them were so stubborn, so selfish, so blinded by their own fury that they barely noticed what they were doing to the one person who was trying to keep the family from falling apart at the seams.

"I'm going to sit with Julie," Tobias said, rising from his chair.

"Just remember the plan," John told him. "When the triggers we set up go off, that's your signal to get Julie into the salt circle and stay there while we do our job." He and Dean had placed symbols on all the mirrors and windows in the house that were supposed to emit a powerful glow and shatter the glass when faced with a demon.

Tobias nodded sombrely and headed upstairs.

Dean waited until he was out of earshot before he asked what had been turning over inside his mind for some time. "If we destroy the demon, what happens to all the souls it's taken?"

John rose from the sofa and moved to the window. Dean had noticed the pattern in his behaviour. If they were in a room with other people, everything was normal. But if they were alone in a room together, John would walk away, put more distance between them. Dean did it too. He bet there was some psychobabble to explain how that symbolised the emotional distance between them, blah blah blah. Sam would probably be able to tell them. He was always the smart one.

Damn, there was that knife in the heart again.

"It's hard to say," John finally answered. "Maybe after we finish the incantation, they'll be freed."

"But you don't know for sure?" Dean pressed. Lately he'd been questioning more, arguing more. He couldn't help it. It wasn't just that he was angry; he was. But it ran deeper than that.

"The demon consumes them," John stated. "I don't know if they even exist any more."

"Don't you think we should try to find out a little more? I mean, there could be a way to save them, they might still be trapped somewhere."

"Dean, we have to end this tonight," John said, turning to Dean and staring him down. "We can't allow it to take another soul. This thing can't be pinned down and this might be our only chance to know where it's going to be. We've been over this."

Dean looked away, torn. He knew his father was right, but another part couldn't help feeling like they could do more. There was no way of telling how many souls this thing had taken. Evidence of the Braken's existence had gone back hundreds of years but it could have been around even longer than that.

"I can't have you in two minds tonight," John said in that tone that usually made Dean stand up a little straighter. "Can I count on you?"

Dean replied with the truth. The statement of unquestionable fact that all too often went unnoticed and unappreciated. "Always."

_Bridgestone - May 10th_ _2003_ _- 11.12pm_

The house was quiet. Somehow Tobias had drifted into a restless sleep, next to Julie. Julie had barely said a word since John and Dean had arrived. She was numb, letting everything happen around her. If she was afraid, she didn't show it. She just sat there, staring into nothingness, and it stared right back.

Dean was making some coffee to keep himself awake. John was checking on Julie and Tobias. Dean was getting the milk from the fridge when he heard the glass shattering upstairs. His reflexes kicked in and he bolted from the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs to the bedroom. The lights flickered on and off, then switched off entirely just as he reached the door.

Julie was screaming. If she hadn't been afraid earlier, she was afraid now. Dean could hear John reading the incantation stopped, then there was a large crash, and the chanting stopped.

With shotgun raised, Dean burst through the door and saw the Braken for the first time, its shroud of shadow giving only glimpses of the hideous features underneath. It was standing in the centre of the now trashed room. Tobias was in the salt circle, holding Julie as she cried in terror. John was slumped in the corner of the room, unmoving. Blood trickled down the side of his face.

Dean fired two consecutive shots at the demon. It screeched and disappeared. Dean knew it would be back. He rushed to John, made sure he was still breathing, and picked up the notes. But just as his fingers touched clasped around them, Dean felt himself being pulled from his feet and flung across the room. He landed in a heap beside the salt circle.

"Dean! Are you alright!" Tobias asked, still keeping inside the circle.

"Just stay where you are," Dean told him, and pulled himself up, expecting the Braken to finish him off.

But the Braken was more interested in John.

"It was after Julie, but then it was like it...changed its mind!" Tobias exclaimed, half relieved for his wife and half horrified for John.

Dean did all he could do. He started to read the incantation. This drew the Braken's attention. A quarter of the way through the latin verses, the demon turned. Dean suddenly found himself frozen to the spot. A voice penetrated his skull.

"_A banishing ritual? That's not even worth my time, boy."_

Though he still couldn't move, Dean felt blood dripping from his nose as the pain inside his head increased. The Braken turned away from him and back to John.

Dean took a few breaths to control his pain and carried on reading. He passed the halfway mark.

The Braken turned once more.

"_Be _quiet_," _it ordered, and amped up the pressure inside Dean's skull. "_I've been waiting for this. A hunter who lost his love to something like me? A soul with so much pain...It will be mine. Don't stand in my way."_

Dean fell to the floor as the Braken loosened its grip on him. Then it moved back towards John.

"NO! Get away from him you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. His vision was blurring but he could see the demon looming over John. He had to stop it. "Leave him alone!" he choked, but his own consciousness was fading fast. With what felt like his last breath, he whispered the only thing he could think of. "Take me..."

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End of Chapter Eight  
Next Chapter: Next Time Around


	9. Next Time Around

NOTES: Mmm...angst... 

CHAPTER NINE  
Next Time Around  
-----------------

_The Impala - Present Day_

"It said we had a deal," Dean finished. He remembered the Braken entering his mind, violating his memories and invading his thoughts to see if his soul was worth trading. But Sammy didn't need to know that part. "It left this message in my head... 'eight-hundred days'. Then I passed out. When I came to the demon was gone. I told dad that I finished the ritual and banished the thing...I started to believe it myself. Guess I'm a better liar than I gave myself credit for."

Sam had been listening quietly. Somewhere during in the story he had pulled over. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. "You...you actually _offered _this demon your soul?"

"It was going to take dad's. I had no choice."

Sam couldn't seem to wrap his head round it. No wonder Dean hadn't wanted him to call their father. John would be beyond furious. "I can't believe you would do something so reckless. Well, okay, I can, but making a deal with a demon? You know better than that. You _knew _better than that."

"Yeah, well you weren't there."

Sam looked away. "I'm sorry."

Dean realised what his previous statement had sounded like. "No, I didn't mean..."

"I know what you meant. I'm still sorry," Sam interrupted. "I know it was a rough time back then. It was for me too. I keep wondering if I made the right decision. Maybe if I had stayed with you this would have never happened..."

"Don't do that," Dean said harshly. "This isn't your fault. And it wasn't your fault for leaving back then. Me and dad...we were selfish to think you'd stay forever. I think he knew for a while that you'd want something better than a life of hunting."

Sam couldn't help thinking about what Dean had said in the car after the Braken had attacked him;

"_I'm sorry about everything. You deserved a normal life. I was selfish to want you back, to ask you to come."_

Sam wondered if Dean remembered saying it.

"_You're worth more than this, more than me."_

Did Dean truly believe that? That somehow he was worth less than Sam, less than John? For Dean to offer his own soul up to a demon like that, it would seem like a plausible explanation, if a worrying one. Was this the reason Dean had been reluctant to tell him what had happened?

"I understand why you did what you did. You were trying to save dad." Sam told his brother. Though it was a shock, Sam really did understand. It was no secret that Dean would die for their father, so why not an even greater sacrifice? "But I don't understand why you didn't just tell me all this to start with. You may not have had a choice back then, but you had a choice after I told you about my vision. You should have told me. We could have got hold of this ritual and stopped the damn demon before it attacked you."

_Attacked. _Sam didn't know what other word to use. He couldn't quite bring himself to give the horrific experience Dean had been through a name. Giving it a name made it real. Too real.

"I know I should have told you, I'm sorry," Dean admitted. "It was my mistake. I wanted to keep you out of it."

Sam knew he meant; _'keep you safe'_. It was all Dean seemed to do; protect other people. No matter what the cost. Sam looked out the window. The night was drawing in. "We should find somewhere to stop," he said, starting up the Impala. "We can use salt circles for tonight, then head to the nearest library or occultist bookshop in the morning and look for the banishing ritual. The next time the bastard comes, we'll be ready."

Dean smiled. Telling Sam what had happened actually felt better than he had imagined it would. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Sam had taken it better than he had expected. For a second, Dean had almost fallen for all the talk about fighting the Braken together. But he knew there was no fighting it. It was too strong. Dean had to keep Sammy safe. He had already insured that he would be.

"_I was thinking of making him the same deal I made with you..."_

"_Don't."_

"_What are you going to do to stop me?"_

"_I won't fight. Stay away from him and you can take what you want from me. But if you so much as show your face to my brother, I will not stop until I see you burn."_

"_Dean Winchester, we have a deal."_

There was just one more thing left to do, and then it would be over.

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It was raining when Sam and Dean finally arrived in the anonymous town in which they found a motel. After checking in under the name 'Howard', Sam went up to the room while Dean got some coffee and snacks from the vending machines at the end of the hall.

"They only had _healthy _snacks," Dean said with disgust. "So I didn't bother."

Sam smirked and finished pouring the salt circle around the two beds. He took his coffee from Dean and sat down. "Don't forget to take your pills," he reminded Dean.

Dean didn't think there was much point, but he took them anyway. There was no sense in starting an argument now, not with what was to come.

"I've been thinking," Sam started.

Dean felt his heart sink. "Should I be worried?"

Sam ignored the attempt at humour. "I think we should call dad."

"We already went over this," Dean sighed. "I don't want you to call him, and he doesn't give a damn anyway."

"That's not true," Sam argued, but he had a difficult time putting all of his sincerity in it. Who knew what went through that man's head? Maybe he really didn't give a damn. It sure felt like that sometimes. But whether or not John really gave a crap about his sons was beside the point. "Besides, with his help maybe we can stop this thing sooner. If we explained what was going on..."

"No!" Dean shouted._ So much for not starting an argument. _"I mean it, Sam. He doesn't find out, ever!"

Sam didn't raise his own voice to meet Dean's. Dean had finally admitted what had happened, but the air was still rife with tension and Sam didn't want to fight. They needed to stick together on this. "You said you still wanted to find him. What if this brings him to us?"

Dean didn't answer the question.

"What are you so afraid of?" Sam pushed. "That he'll find out that you saved his life? Saved his soul?"

"He's not going to find out a saved him," Dean replied bitterly. "He's going to find out that I screwed up."

Sam finally understood. Dean's eternal need to please, his undying loyalty...Sam knew John didn't take it as seriously as he should. Hell, here Dean was, suffering a fate worse than death for him, and he where was he? Sam wanted to assure Dean that John would be grateful, that he'd understand, but Sam couldn't do it. Their father wasn't exactly best known for his understanding nature. Dean had always been so afraid of letting him down.

"You made a mistake. He'll get over it," Sam offered. It was the best he could manage.

"I told you, he's not going to find out," Dean maintained, masking the revelation he had let slip with forced bravado.

Sam sighed, signally his defeat. "Fine. I won't call him." He took another long sip of his coffee and fished out the laptop from the bag. "I'll find out where the nearest library is."

Dean walked over to the window and looked down to the car park, where the Impala sat. But something was wrong. Not outside, but in the reflection. It wasn't his own. The Braken's sinister features stood there where his own should have been. Dean choked back a gasp and closed the blinds. It was now or never.

"What made you decide to tell me what happened, anyway?" Sam asked.

"I just thought you should know." Dean turned. Sam had given him a window of opportunity. "Before I left."

Sam's gaze immediately snapped up. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The way dad left me, without any word or warning...it hurt. So I'm telling you now what's going to happen. I have to take off, Sam. It's too dangerous for me to stay."

Sam stood up. The laptop fell to the floor but he didn't care. He couldn't believe his ears. "Don't you dare. Don't you give me that crap, not after everything we've been through."

"You know, I never got it," Dean reflected, scarily collected. "I never understood why dad left. Until now."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." This time Sam let his voice get louder. "You're going to just run away? After all the crap you gave me about going to college, after dad abandoned you, you're going to do exactly the same thing?"

"Yeah. Guess I'm kind of a hypocrite, ain't I?" Dean said, laughing a little.

"This isn't funny," Sam snapped, his whole body trembling with anger. "And you're not going _anywhere_. I won't let you. We're going to fight this thing, Dean, and we're going to do it together."

"I thought you might say that," Dean said, putting his hands in his pockets. "So I, uh...kinda put some sleeping pills in your coffee."

Sam turned pale and looked like a puppy that had just been kicked out of the house for the first time. "You wouldn't..." He turned his gaze to his coffee mug, which he had set down on the table.

Dean had been waiting for the diversion. Sam never saw it coming. Dean swung his fist with just the right amount of force to knock him unconscious but not leave any lasting damage. "Well, if I had some sleeping pills I would have," Dean muttered, catching Sam's limp body on the way down to the floor. "Sorry Sammy."

Dean manoeuvred Sam onto his bed and picked up the laptop. He set it on the table and began packing up his things.

"Alright, you son of a bitch, I'm leaving," he said, facing the window. "This is the last time you are ever going to be in the same room as my brother, you hear me?"

"_I haven't forgotten the deal, Dean."_

Dean knew what was coming and wished he didn't. The Braken materialised from the reflection and stood fully manifested. The only thought that kept Dean from passing out from the intense pain as the demon started to feed was the that he was doing it for Sammy. That was all that mattered.

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How Dean made it to the Impala and started it up would be a memory lost to him. The Braken's second attack had been even more harrowing than the first. The emptiness that had been left inside him was crippling now. He felt like he was losing himself, and for all intents and purposes, he was.

But it was for the best.

Dean knew what happened to the Braken's victims. Before they completely lost themselves, they were only part human. He and John had found a couple of them. In hospitals. In sanatoriums. When the demon had taken it all, they weren't human anymore. They were shells of people, existing only to occupy space. Dean had been horrified then. He was terrified now.

But it was for the best.

After a few miles, Dean regained control, but he didn't know how long he could keep it. Another attack and who knew? He could be one of those shells.

Dean checked his mirror. There was no-one else on the road, in front or behind. A glance at the empty space where his brother should have been sitting sent pangs of sadness through him. It had come to this; his worst fear. Dean Winchester was alone. And he was going to die that way.

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End of Chapter Nine  
Next Chapter: Nothing Brings Me Down


	10. Nothing Brings Me Down

NOTES: Thanks and huggles to all the veterans (hehe) and the newbies who are reading and commenting! Here's some mroe lovely angst for all you Dean!Angst fiends. 

CHAPTER TEN  
Nothing Brings Me Down  
-----------------

Sam knew something was wrong when he woke up and realised he was on the floor. It all came back to him quickly after that. He sat up, grimacing at the pain Dean's sucker punch had caused, but it was nothing compared to the pain of what his brother had done. Sam got up and went to the window, but suspected Dean was already long gone. True enough, the Impala was no longer in the car park.

Sam's reached for his phone, fury flowing through his veins. He dialled Dean's number and hoped his brother had neglected to turn it off. After a few rings, it was answered.

"You selfish asshole," Sam spat, before Dean could say anything.

"Hey Sam," came the succinct reply.

"'Hey Sam'!" Sam repeated incredulously. "That's all you have to say!"

"How's your head?" Dean asked, his voice unreadable over the phone.

"Pounding," Sam replied irately. "Where are you?"All he wanted to do was rage and scream, but for fear of losing his coherency, he toned it down and settled for clenching his fist so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I left some aspirin on the side."

"Where are you?" Sam repeated, slower and with a hint of warning. He was in no mood to be ignored.

"Can't tell you that, Sammy."

Sam lost it. At that moment all he wanted to do was punch something, even it was Dean, to knock some sense into him. "Damn it, Dean, tell me where you are!"

There was a long pause.

"I gotta go. Goodbye Sam."

The finality in his voice sent a chill down Sam's spine.

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Dean switched off his cell and dropped it on the passenger seat. Truth be told, he had forgotten to turn it off in the aftermath of the Braken's second attack. He should have anticipated Sam's call, but instead it caught him off guard. He had barely kept it together, every word threatened to be the last before his voice cracked and he broke down.

Leaving Sam like that hurt more than Dean imagined, even knowing it was with the best intentions. He wondered if this was what Sam had felt when he left for college, or what their father felt when he took off. _If he felt anything at all_, Dean thought darkly. The rush of unnatural hatred passed swiftly when he realised that he was starting to experience other effects of the demon's attacks. The brief loss of control scared him, but at the same time served to prove that he made the right decision to leave Sam. He was as dangerous to be around as the Braken.

Dean had been driving solidly since leaving the motel and soon the darkness was gently washed away by the sickly glow of the approaching city. People went missing all the time in cities. It seemed all too appropriate that Dean should lose himself in one.

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Sam almost threw his phone across the room in anger, but held onto it to dial Dean's number again. The attempt failed; Dean had switched off his cell. Sam kicked the bag near to his feet. He furrowed his brow when he realised what was inside. The bag contained all the weapons from the back of the Impala, along with his father's journal. Sam couldn't believe this was happening. Dean had given up. All he knew was hunting, and here were the symbols of his life, lying in bag by Sam's feet, discarded.

For a moment Sam was at a loss. How was he supposed to find his brother now? Everything had gotten so out of hand, and Sam felt the familiar pang of guilt when it occurred to him that maybe if he'd handled things differently, it would have been better. Sam had his part to play in Dean's actions. Leaving to go to college must have done his brother more damage than he'd thought; certainly more damage than Dean let on. Leaving again in Burkitsville had severed the trust that Dean had put back in Sam.

Sam stopped himself from analysing the past. There was no time. Dean was in trouble and Sam needed to find him. But he couldn't do it alone. He looked at the cell phone in his hand and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He dialled John's number.

Sam listened to the ringing tone and still felt a twinge of anger when there was no answer, just the same voicemail message he must have heard a hundred times. Sam didn't know what else he had expected. Maybe that John would somehow instinctively known that Dean was in trouble and pick up the phone. Given Sam's recent 'developments' in wasn't entirely laughable. Sam wondered briefly what John would have to say about that particular matter, if he ever got around to telling him.

The tone sounded and Sam took a deep breath, realising he really didn't know where to begin. "Dad. It's Sam...I know you don't want us looking for you, and this isn't about that," he started, suddenly remembering their last 'conversation' on the phone. "Dean's in trouble. Serious trouble. I think it's the Braken demon you and him dealt with two years ago. It marked him, and it's attacked him at least once. He's taken off. I don't know where he went, but I'm afraid he's gonna…"

Sam ran his hands through his hair and sighed again. "He didn't even take the weapons with him. I think he's given up. I need your help, dad. Please call me back."

Sam hung up sat for a while before starting to gather his things together. He would have to steal a car and guess where Dean was headed. He was about to take some aspirin when his cell rang. Sam took it from his pocket and stared at it for a moment before answering with cautious hope.

"Hello?"

"Sam."

"Dad?" He had to ask to be sure, even though that voice was unmistakable.

"It's me, Sammy," came the reply. "Where are you?"

"In a motel just outside Penn's Creek," Sam told him, unable to believe the conversation was actually taking place.

"Tell me everything," John ordered. "I'm on my way."

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Dean found a multi-storey car park to leave the Impala in. He had sat in it for a while when he realised it might be the last time he would see it. He could have stolen a car himself and left Sammy the Impala, but he hadn't been thinking straight when he'd left the motel. Maybe Sam would find it later. After...

Now Dean was stalking the streets. It was late but there were still quite a few people about, getting ready for a night out, or just coming back from one; Dean wasn't sure of the time. He found himself resenting them. They were so blissful in their ignorance. They had no idea of what went on, and they didn't want to know. They denied it all, denied it until it came looking for them. Then it was all cries for help, and never a sorry for doubting. Never a sorry. They didn't deserve help. Why bother saving people who didn't _deserve_ saving?

Dean shook himself out of it. They weren't foreign thoughts, but the passionate loathing with which they came to him this time was worrying. He needed to do something, to numb the empty space in his soul and take away the hate that was slowly filling it. As he turned the corner, he happened upon a solution, albeit a temporary one.

Dean entered the bar and ordered a drink. Alcohol had always helped quell the hurt in the past, so he figured there was no harm in trying it now. The liquor burned as it slid down his throat. The next few went down a little smoother.

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John Winchester had always seen the speed limit as more of a suggestion. When he had listened to Sam's message, it became meaningless. Dean was in trouble, and it wasn't just from the demon. John remembered the case quite clearly, but now he was reliving it, the memories his only company as he sped along the highway.

The Braken was a nasty piece of work and a bitch to research. Very little documentation existed. Most of what John had managed to gather back then was via word of mouth, through his personal sources. It fed upon souls, and had an acquired taste for tortured ones. The more pain the victim was in, the better. John remembered the state Dean had been in before and after the Braken case. It was entirely likely that the demon would focus on him. But something didn't sit right. One source had told John that the Braken couldn't _take _a soul, that it had to be offered. Surely that information had been incorrect...Dean would never...

John didn't like where these questions were taking him, but they wouldn't stop. Dean had always been good at keeping things inside, and there was no debate as to where he picked up that particular trait, but he had obviously been keeping things to himself about what happened back in Bridgestone. John wasn't entirely sure what the details were yet, but he would get to the bottom of it. He had to. All he had left were his boys, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect them. Sometimes they didn't see it that way, and it hurt, but it was the truth.

Leaving Dean hadn't been an easy decision, but he didn't regret it. When John had picked up the trail of the demon that killed Mary, he knew things would get dangerous, too dangerous to risk anything but himself. He knew Dean would look for him, and he knew it would hit him hard. Maybe even as much as Sam leaving hit him, and that had been very, very hard.

John had never seen Dean behave like it before or since. After Sam left, he was a different person. John had watched him helplessly as Dean drank himself to sleep and hunted with fury and hate. And John watched with guilt, because it was his own doing. Dean didn't know how to deal with his pain because there had been no-one to show him how.

Dean had been in a bad way, but was it enough to do something stupid? John didn't want to believe it, and told himself that he shouldn't assume anything until he knew the facts, but it was difficult. His mind kept going back to the case in North Adams, before the Braken. The arguments they had had still rang in John's ears.

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_North Adams_ _- May 30th 2003 - 11.52pm_

John made his way back from a town meeting in the church hall which he had been spying on. It was definitely looking like the church was the key. Someone, the priest in all likelihood, was brainwashing the townsfolk. With the new intel he had gathered, John headed back to Grave's Inn where he had left Dean. His heart fell when he arrived back to see his eldest son semi-conscious in the corner of the bar, an empty glass in his hand - one of many on the table.

Peter looked at him apologetically from behind the bar when he entered. "I'm sorry, John. We had the new girl behind the bar earlier. Dean was in this state when I got here."

"It's alright," John told him. It wasn't his fault, or the new girl's either. If Dean wanted to drink himself unconscious, he would find a way.

Dean stirred when John approached. "Come on, Dean. Time to go upstairs."

Dean groaned in protest.

"We have work to do tomorrow. I need you sharp so you're going to get some sleep. That's an order," John told his son, aware that his words were probably falling on deaf ears. There was so much he wanted to say, but all that would ever pass his lips seemed to be orders. He couldn't make this right with orders, and he knew it. But still they came…

"An order?" Dean suddenly said, sitting upright. "Well, I guess I better get going then, if it's an _order_. Anything else you want me to do, sir?"

His words were soaked in bitter sarcasm, but John didn't rise to them. "Just get up, Dean."

"What does it get me?" Dean asked, lazily slurring his words. "Sam followed your orders, what did it get him?"

John sighed sorrowfully. He couldn't speak to Dean when he was like this, but it seemed like the only time Dean would ever really talk. John sat down opposite Dean. "Fine, you don't want to go upstairs? What do you want, Dean? Tell me."

Dean glared at him for a while, a glassy sheen over his eyes. "I want you to call Sam and tell him you're sorry," he finally said. "And I want you to ask him to come back."

"I know you want your brother back," John replied. "But he made his choice."

Dean got angry. "What choice did he have? Stay, or leave and never come back!" he exclaimed. "You _dared _him to leave, and now you're pissed that you lost."

John wanted to explain himself. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to tell Dean that he could leave too if that was what he wanted, that he wasn't mad at Sam, that he was just one man trying to do what was best and evidently failing miserably at it. But the words wouldn't come, and even if they did, they would be wasted on a son that had to drink to escape his father's failings.

"I didn't make him leave," John said, trying to convince himself more than to Dean. "Sam was the one who walked out the door."

"Yeah," Dean bit back, getting up from the table. "And you're the one who slammed it shut."

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After the Braken case, Dean had changed again. He had stopped drinking, and stopped arguing. John wanted it to be because he had accepted Sam's leaving, but deep down he knew it was because of something more disturbing. It was almost as if Dean had just shut down, closed himself off from everything. It was a convincing mask. John eventually started to believe that Dean was over it, maybe even that he had forgiven him. Now, two years later, it seemed that things were more complicated.

John was sure Sam hadn't been entirely truthful with him on the phone. He'd explained that the Braken hadn't been banished two years ago, and that it held a grudge against Dean for trying to destroy it. But John suspected there was a lot more to it. The banishing ritual should have worked, for starters. Then there was that nagging story that one of John's sources had told him. _A soul can't be taken. It has to be offered._

John knew the situation was serious for Sam to call him in the first place, and John wouldn't have called back if he didn't agree. He knew any contact with his boys was dangerous, but it was a case of debating one risk over another. The threat of the demon that killed Mary and its allies was constant, but he had taken care to thrown them off his scent for the time being. For now there were greater concerns.

John looked at the clock on the dashboard. He was still a few hours away from Penn's Creek. Sam had rightly said that he couldn't hang around to start looking for Dean, so he was heading to the nearest city, and John would call him when he got there. It was going to be strange seeing Sam again. Last time they were together hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. But with the common goal of finding Dean and saving him from himself, there was no room for arguments, and if John had to open the door that he had closed on Sam two years ago, that was what he would do. It was about time anyway.

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End of Chapter Ten  
Next Chapter: Broken Silence


	11. Broken Silence

NOTES: I had to bring John into the mix, I hope I can do him justice, he's a complex character. More from his POV in the next chapter, but in the meantime...

CHAPTER ELEVEN  
Broken Silence  
-----------------

It was a brisk morning; it must have been about 3am. Sam hugged his chest to keep out the cold as he waited. John had called and said he was in the city, and they had agreed a meeting point. Sam couldn't quite get his head wrapped around the thought of John actually answering a phonecall, let alone the fact that he was on his way and would be there to help him find Dean in under ten minutes. As if the past weeks hadn't been enough of an emotional roller coaster, here was another upside down twist in the track.

Sam had been unsuccessful in his search so far. That Dean had even come to this city had been a guess. He was checking the hospitals every hour, unsure of whether he wanted to find Dean there or not. The thought that Dean might already be...that Sam was too late; it was too much to bear.

There were a few people about. Men and women walking home after a good night out, or a bad one, stumbling drunks and homeless people stalked the streets. Sam stopped everyone who passed, asked about Dean and showed them a photo, one of the ones Dean used to make his numerous IDs. So far he'd had reactions ranging from 'Get the fuck out of my face, boy' to 'no, I ain't seen him, but have you got his number?'. Most people wouldn't even look at the photo, and Sam had gotten angry more than once.

A homeless man with several carrier bags walked slowly by. Sam stopped him and showed him the photo. "Have you seen this man? He's a little shorter than me, wearing a brown leather jacket..."

The man stopped. "Hmm...yeah. Yeah, I saw him," he said, moving the picture closer to his eyes.

Sam hadn't been expecting the answer. "Wh...really? Where!"

"I just paid him a visit."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What?"

The man looked up, an unnatural grin across his face. His eyes were swirling with a grey mist. "It's Sam, right?"

Sam's defences took over and he whipped the gun from his pocket, pointing it directly at the stranger. "It's you, isn't it? Where's my brother?"

"He's not your brother anymore."

Sam knew when someone was possessed, which ruled out shooting the son of a bitch, but he couldn't do nothing. He grabbed the man and swung him round, throwing him against the wall and pinning him there.

"Where is he!" Sam demanded. There was nothing else he could do. The source of all of his problems was staring him in the face and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Spare thoughts of simply killing the homeless man passed through Sam's mind, and if he had any proof that the act would kill the demon, and set Dean free, he might have pulled the trigger. But it was Dean that was losing his soul, not Sam. He couldn't kill a human being, an innocent party who just happened to have the misfortune to be walking by.

The Braken laughed with its victim's voice. "Dean doesn't want you to find him. I respect his wishes. You should too."

Sam tightened his grip on the man's throat, enough to make breathing a struggle, but still careful of the force he was using. "Tell me where he is."

"You won't like what you find. Your brother is almost completely gone." The man bared his rotted teeth in a sneer. "But there is one way to save him."

"What way?"

"I think you know."

In a second, the grey swirl in the man's eyes was gone.

"Hey...hey, what? Get off me!" the homeless man coughed, confused as he started to struggle under Sam's grip.

Sam let go immediately and watched the man walk hurriedly away, cursing and shaking his head. Sam knew exactly what the demon meant, but any further thought on the subject was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam."

Of all the ways Sam had envisaged meeting his father again, this had not been one of them. "Dad," he breathed, a sigh of relief riding along with it.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned.

Sam nodded. The presence of his father was still a little too much to comprehend. He hadn't seen the man in years, and his absence had been there for so long that Sam was almost used to it. There were so many questions, about the demon that killed mom and Jess, about the Braken, about where in the hell John had been and what he had been doing. So now here was his chance. Here John was, after months of searching, and Sam couldn't find a damn thing to say.

"It's been a long time," John said, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's good to see you again."

Sam found his throat getting a little tighter. Thoughts of the Braken were washed away in the intensity of the reunion. "You too," he finally managed.

Neither man was renowned for being the hugging type, but at that moment it seemed like the thing to do. As they embraced, the reality of John standing there finally came home to Sam.

John pulled away after a moment, his eyes heavy with emotion. "Now what do you say we find that brother of yours?"

John had always been a straight to business kind of guy, and for once, Sam was just fine with it.

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"Do you know what the soul is, Sammy?" John asked. They were sitting in his truck, which was parked around the corner from where they had met. Sam had wanted to continue searching for Dean, but John insisted they compare notes first. Both of them had information that needed to be exchanged.

Sam thought about the question for a moment. Of course he knew what a soul was. Didn't everyone? But the more he thought about it, the more complicated it seemed. No clear cut definitions came to mind. He didn't know why they were siting there having a theological debate while Dean was god knows where.

"A lot of people believe a lot of different things," John began when Sam didn't answer. "But from what I've seen? It's everything that makes you human. It's everything good and everything bad inside you. This demon, this son of a bitch that feeds on them...if it continues doing what it's doing? There won't be anything left of Dean to save."

"All the more reason we shouldn't waste time when we could be looking for him," Sam replied.

"I want you to be prepared for what we might find," John told him. "Dean won't be...himself. The Braken's victims..."

Sam waited for him to finish. John was clearly having trouble finding the right words, and it worried him. He was sure he didn't want to be hearing this. Anything that his father was afraid of, scared Sam a hundred times more.

"It takes who they are. We visited some of this thing's past victims. They...they turned on their families and friends. Some of them killed."

"What are you saying, that Dean might attack us?"

"I'm saying that we have to be careful. Just remember that Dean is dangerous in his current state. Don't trust him, don't let your guard down."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't expected this, on top of everything, but somewhere inside him something clicked. Dean hadn't just left because the Braken was dangerous, he had left because he was turning into something dangerous too. Sam couldn't help feeling guilty. Why was Dean was so ready to sacrifice everything for him? For someone who abandoned him on more than one occasion, who didn't pick up the phone for two years to see if he was okay, for someone who couldn't even protect him from danger when he had seen it coming in a vision.

"Are you with me, Sammy?" John pressed.

"Yeah," Sam said, pushing the anguish into the overflowing box he kept at the back of his mind. "So once we find him, what happens next? How do we kill the demon and get Dean back?"

John didn't reply right away and Sam didn't like it one bit.

"Dad?"

"I've got it covered. Let's just concentrate on finding Dean."

Sam nodded, but was left mildly unsettled by John's hesitation. He knew there was no time to get angry over the 'need to know' crap that his father was still pulling after all this time, but it still irked him.

"You've checked the hospitals?"

"Every hour. I was checking the bars when you called, I got through about fifteen with no luck."

John nodded and glanced at the clock. "It's around throwing out time, so we should get back to it."

Sam rubbed his forehead. "He might not even be in this city, dad," he said, painfully. "What if we can't find him?"

John met his eyes. "We'll find him."

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There were always stragglers. The ones who just wouldn't go home. Ray was used to them. He'd been running a bar downtown for years and was no stranger to the types that frequented his establishment, and every other establishment like it. He's seen them all. The loud ones, the quiet ones, the horny ones, the underage ones, and the ones who just didn't want the night to end. They all blurred into one big mass of strangers.

But he would never forget this one.

"He was fairly young, mid-twenties, I'd say. He had light brown hair," Ray told the police officer taking the report. "Leather jacket, jeans. He was sitting in the corner for most of the night, knocking them back. He was alone, the type I usually watch out for. The lonely ones usually attracted the most attention from groups looking for a fight, picking on the weakest of the herd, and all that."

"And tonight was no exception?" the Officer guessed.

Outside, the ambulance pulled away.

Ray nodded, and peered over the man's shoulder, trying to get another morbidly curious look at the beaten body they were lifting into the second ambulance. "There were four of them, large guys with attitude. The kind that go from bar to bar, staying long enough to get themselves thrown out, then moving on to the next. I don't know how it started..." Ray trailed off, remembering. Not the fight, but what happened afterwards.

He could never repeat it, especially not to a cop. How could he explain when he barely understood it himself? When he looked into that man's eyes, and he'd looked right back and there had been...the only way he could think to put it...there had been more _nothing _in that man's eyes than Ray ever thought possible.

"Mr Thomas?"

"One of them started yelling stuff, stupid stuff. I thought...I was watching it and I thought he'd be the one in trouble, you know? There were _four _of them. They were just _saying_ stuff..." He wanted to forget. He just wanted to go home and never think about what he had seen that night again.

"Then what, Mr Thomas?"

Ray sighed. "Then there was a whole lot of chaos," he explained. "And a whole lot of blood."

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John opened the trunk of his truck and divided up some supplies between himself and Sam.

"Keep you phone on. You get a lead, you call me straight away," John ordered, though it was unnecessary. Sam had been checking his phone every two minutes in the thin hope that Dean would call. "I mean it. If you find Dean, don't try and talk to him, don't approach him without me. Remember what I told you."

Sam nodded grimly. The fact that his brother could be a monster by now, or a comatose shell of a human being wasn't exactly something he was going to forget any time soon. "Same goes for you."

"I'll cover the other side of the city and check the police stations. You carry on calling the hospitals." John slammed the boot and went to get back in the driver's seat. "We're gonna find him, Sam."

Sam looked away, then back at his father. "We'd better."

He was two steps away from the truck when his cell phone rang.

Sam stopped in his tracks and pulled the cell from his pocket. John got out of the truck and appeared beside him.

"Dean?" John asked expectantly.

Sam shook his head slightly. It wasn't Dean's number, but he still couldn't help his hands from shaking as he expectantly answered the call. "Hello?"

There was background noise, but nobody responded.

"Dean? Dean, is that you?" Sam tried.

He listened hard, trying to hear a voice, a sound that would give some indication of where the call was coming from, because it _had _to be Dean. It had to be.

Then he heard it. It was barely audible, but it was there.

"Sam?"

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End of Chapter Eleven  
Next Chapter: Lost & Found


	12. Lost & Found

NOTES: Oh maaan I wanna see season 2. squuiiirrrmmm! I think I'm going to go bug the TV station that broadcast season one. And write some more fic! Writing helps fill the void... 

CHAPTER TWELVE  
Lost & Found  
-----------------

There was blood on his hands. Blood on his face. He could taste it. Its origin escaped him.

"_Dean?"_

He hurt. His head hurt. He couldn't think straight. Where was he?

"_Dean, talk to me!"_

At first he thought the voice calling his name was a memory, but then he remembered finding the phone booth and dialling the number. The only number his fingers knew how to dial.

"Sam?"

"Yes! Where are you, are you alright?"

Dean knew he shouldn't answer the question. He shouldn't even be talking to Sam at all. But something had happened, something bad, and this is where he had ended up. Where had all this blood come from?

When the voice on the other end of the phone spoke again, it had changed.

"Dean, this is you father. Where are you?"

"Dad?" Dean said before he could stop himself. His own voice sounded foreign, it was so weak and tearful. Why was there blood all over him?

"Yes, it's me, Dean. I need you to tell me where you so me and Sam can come and get you."

He had been at the bar, drinking, yes that was it, he could still smell the alcohol. Blood and alcohol. He remembered hitting someone over and over and over...

"Dean, concentrate on my voice. Look around you. Tell me where you are."

His father wasn't supposed to be there. Maybe this wasn't really happening. Maybe he was in a coma in a hospital somewhere and this was all a delusion. Maybe the Braken had taken everything from him and he wasn't a person anymore. He didn't feel like a person.

"I didn't mean...to hurt them."

It was a lie. At the time, he had meant it. He remembered now. The Braken had attacked him again, just before. He had staggered into the next bar and sat down. After a while they had been shouting abuse at him from across the bar and something inside him had snapped. He had taken them down easily. There had been a lot of screaming, from people who weren't leaving as fast as they could. He remembered just hitting one, hitting him in the face and not stopping...

They tried to fight back, but they didn't have the training that Dean did. When he was finished they barely looked alive. Maybe they weren't. He didn't stop to check. He just stood up, and the bartender was staring at him. Dean would never forget the look in his eyes. The abject horror.

"It doesn't matter what you did. Just tell us where you are, that's an order."

That phrase, it had meant something to him once. Now it didn't seem to matter at all. "I'm sorry," Dean muttered, running his hand through his hair. "I had to. It was going to...you and Sam...are you alright?" It was the only coherent thought his mind would allow him.

"We're both fine."

Dean felt a tear trace a clear path down his bloodied face as he saw the reflection of the Braken staring at him in the glass of the phone booth.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, before letting the phone drop from his hand.

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"What did he say, is he alright?"

John closed his eyes and wished with every part of him that this wasn't happening. Dean had sounded bad, and he'd mentioned hurting people. Even if he did come back from that, chances were he would never forgive himself. If he came back from it...

"Dad?" Sam pressed.

"He's doesn't sound good," John replied honestly. "But I think he called from a payphone, which means we can find him. Come on."

Twenty minutes later they had the location of the payphone from the company. It was situated on the other side of the city, which was where John and Sam were headed in John's truck.

"He's going to be alright, isn't he?" Sam asked. "When we destroy the demon, he'll be back to normal, right?" Sam asked.

John rubbed his face with one hand, and kept the other on the wheel.

"_The demon consumes them. I don't know if they even exist any more."_

John remembered when he had said those words. Should he tell Sam that Dean might already be gone and prepare him for the worst, or take a chance and save him the grief?

"Honestly...I don't know," he finally said, settling for a weak compromise.

Sam looked away and fell silent, but John could tell there was a lot he had to say.

"Why don't you tell me what happened, Sam?"

Sam met his gaze again. "I told you."

John smirked a little. Sam was never very good at lying to him. "You told me enough to get me here. Well, I'm here and now I want the truth."

"The Braken marked Dean and it's taking his soul. What more do you need to know?" Sam retorted.

"How about why?" John replied, ignoring the bitterness that had crept into Sam's voice.

Sam turned away again. "It doesn't matter why."

"It matters to me. I know that the Braken can't take a soul, that it has to be offered. Do you know anything about that?"

John got his answer from the look on Sam's face, but he didn't want to believe it.

"He did, didn't he? He offered..." John found himself almost disgusted at the situation. How could Dean have been so stupid? What was he thinking? "What about the banishing ritual? Did Dean even finish it?" John questioned, misplaced anger rising in his chest.

Sam looked incredibly guilty. "He...he told me that he thought he finished it. That's why he never mentioned it to anyone after."

John thumped the steering wheel. Dean had told him that he'd banished the Braken. He had lied, and now he was suffering because of it. "Damn it! I taught him better than that. How could he have been so careless?"

"He did it for you," Sam said angrily. "Just like he does everything for you!"

"Sam..."

"No, don't. All he ever does is sacrifice and follow orders, and all he ever gets from you is crap about his mistakes? The Braken was coming after _you _two years ago, and Dean stopped it the only way he could."

John silently processed Sam's outburst. John had always known Dean would kill and die for him, and John would do the same, but to sacrifice his soul, even after seeing the Braken's victims and what their fate had been...John couldn't accept it. But the more he thought about it, the more he believed Dean was capable. Dean had always been self-sacrificing when it came to the family, in the obvious ways and in the more subtle ones too. The truth was, John had always suspected his boys might leave, and after Sam had gone to college, he'd been expecting Dean to take off as well. But if he had any aspirations to do something more than hunt for the rest of his life, he never showed it. He was good at keeping things inside.

"I didn't know," John said when he realised he had been silent for a while now.

"He didn't want you to," Sam replied. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his palm. He was tired and regretted snapping. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," John told him. "You're right. I know I haven't exactly been a great father. But you know I only ever wanted the best for you boys, don't you?"

"I know," Sam said, smiling weakly.

John wished he could believe him. "Come on, the payphone should be around here somewhere," he said, pulling the truck into a side street.

Both Winchesters climbed out of the car and were greeted by the rain. John looked up and down the street, which was deserted. The phone booth was easy to spot. "Over there," he announced, starting towards it. Sam followed.

When they reached the phone, Dean was nowhere in sight, but disturbing traces of his presence were. There was a bloody hand print on the glass and on the receiver, as well as various other smudges of the crimson tell elsewhere. Who it belonged to was unclear.

"Oh my god, he's hurt..." Sam uttered quietly.

John couldn't take his eyes from the blood. "It might not be his."

"What are you talking about?"

It wasn't really possible to sugarcoat the statement, but he tried nonetheless. "Dean said he might have hurt someone."

Sam looked even more worried, if it was possible, but he didn't say anything.

"Let's split up and check the area," John said, finally managing to tear his gaze from the phone booth. "He can't have gone far."

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Sam was having trouble getting his head round everything that had happened. He had so much new information to process and he wasn't sure he liked any of it. Even John's

admission of not being a great father wasn't what he had wanted to hear. Maybe it was true, but Sam knew that he had always meant well. It was just a fact that was hard to remember sometimes.

Then there was Dean's phone call. He had sounded so scared and distant. It felt so wrong hearing his brother talking like that. Everything felt wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Things shouldn't have gotten this bad. It scared Sam more than he thought possible knowing that there was no guarantee that Dean could be saved, even if they did destroy the demon.

"_There is one way to save him."_

Sam hadn't mentioned the Braken's visit to John. At the time it was because it wasn't important, just a threat that Sam wasn't stupid enough to believe. Making another deal would only be giving the Braken exactly what it wanted, and who was to say it would stick to its word anyway? But now Sam knew there was chance Dean wouldn't be saved. He put the thought aside. He was getting ahead of himself. It was an option. That was all it was.

Sam rounded another corner and scanned ahead of him for any sign of Dean. The place was pretty rundown. Some of the buildings were boarded up and had been vandalised. Dean couldn't have gone far after leaving the phone booth, but there were a lot of places to hide in the surrounding areas. Sam tried to think like Dean, figure out where he would go, but considering his mindset was completely unpredictable right now, it did him little good.

Sam suddenly noticed a figure ahead of him, just turning a corner. He only caught a glimpse, but the figure had been Dean's height and build, and the was enough to send Sam running down the alley in tow.

"Hey!" he called, hoping for a response, or at least to get the figure, whoever it was, to slow down.

He reached the end of the alley and turned the corner onto another. There was no-one in sight. Confused, Sam ran along checking the doorways, nooks and anywhere the figure he had seen might have turned off. He was halfway up when somebody stepped out a few metres in front of him.

"Dean!"

He took in Dean's appearance. There were fresh bruises and cuts on his face, and he had blood all over his shirt, hands and face. Sam took a step towards him, but stopped.

It wasn't Dean. It looked like him, but his eyes were swirling grey. It was the Braken.

"Hi there, Sam. What took you so long?"

Sam froze and tried to catch his breath.

"Have you thought any more about what we discussed?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, trying to keep his composure and not show the fear and the fury that had invaded every inch of him.

"And?" the Braken asked with a sick kind of hope. He smiled with Dean's lips.

Sam clenched his teeth. He was going to destroy this demon if it was the last thing he did. "And how stupid do you think I am?" he spat.

Dean's twisted smile faded.

"Now give me my brother back."

"You really want him back? Fine. I'll let you two spend some quality time together, then I'll make you my offer one more time," the Braken told him. "But you might want to stand back. Dean isn't going to be very pleased to see you."

Dean blinked a few times and the grey mist was gone from his eyes. He looked around, confused, then his eyes met Sam's.

Sam saw nothing of his brother left in them.

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End of Chapter Twelve  
Next Chapter: Hope In Hell


	13. Hope In Hell

NOTES: Two more chapters to go after this one! 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN  
Hope in Hell  
-----------------

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Dean's voice was as empty as his eyes.

Sam wasn't sure what to do. Dean didn't seem violent. He seemed confused. Maybe he wasn't as bad as John and the demon had implied. "I'm here to help you," he told Dean carefully.

Dean stared at him. "Help me what?"

Sam didn't like the way his brother sounded. There was a tenseness in the air that was impossible to ignore.

"Help you get better," Sam replied. "We have to destroy the Braken, remember? Then you'll get better. Back to normal."

Dean laughed, but it was a cold laugh. "Normal? What's normal?"

If it hadn't been for Dean's stark eyes, Sam might have found it funny too.

"Why are you here, Sam?" Dean repeated. He wasn't confused. There was accusation in his tone.

"The Braken has attacked you, it's taken your soul. We need to get it back." Sam put his hand in his pocket to reach for his cell and waited for the right moment to dial. He was going to need help if Dean wouldn't cooperate. From the sounds of it, Dean didn't want to go anywhere.

"Maybe I don't want it back," Dean said. "What did ever get me except pain? Now... now I feel great. I don't care. Do you have any idea how it feels not to care anymore? Not to give a shit about people and their pathetic lives that I get no thanks for saving, not to care about you and dad and your sorry ungrateful asses...I gotta tell you, it's liberating."

"You're not thinking straight, you don't mean that." Sam tried not to let Dean's words get to him. After all, he wasn't himself.

"Why do you even care? Isn't this what you always wanted, for me not to complicate your life?"

"No, of course not," Sam denied.

"I mean, without me you can get back to that 'normal' you love so much, and not feel guilty about it," Dean continued, hatred lacing his words. "That's the only reason you stick around, right? Guilt? Or maybe it's because you can't go back. You can whine and bitch about it, but deep down you know. This, this _life_ will find you, just like it found you at Stanford. Just like it found Jess."

Sam couldn't help flinching at her name.

"Face it," Dean said acidly. "You're a _curse_."

That was the trouble with family. They always knew exactly where to stick the knife.

Sam couldn't listen any longer. Dean wasn't himself, he was just trying to get a rise out of him. "Stop it. You're coming with me, whether you want to or not."

Dean shrugged. "I'm thinking not."

Both brothers acted at the same time, attacking front on. It wasn't the first time they had fought, but it was certainly the first time under these conditions. Usually neither of them wanted to cause any real damage. This time Dean wasn't fraught with such a burden. He attacked with fury, while Sam just tried to get the upper hand and subdue him.

Various hits connected on both sides. Their fighting styles were similar, but Dean had always been better at controlling the situation. Dean somehow managed to use Sam's own momentum to swing him around, tripping him as he did so. Sam fell flat on his face, with Dean still holding his arm. Dean then put all his weight onto Sam's back, using his knee as a focus point.

Sam cried out as Dean wrenched his arm and felt it come out of its socket. His body was on fire with pain, and it threatened to pull him under.

"You shouldn't have come looking for me," Dean said viciously. "I don't need you anymore."

Sam was still reeling when suddenly the force Dean had been putting onto his back and arm disappeared, and Dean fell to the ground beside him.

"You alright?" John said as he helped Sam turn over.

"My shoulder..." Sam choked out, exhausted both emotionally and physically.

John took one look and knew it was dislocated. It hadn't been the first time that it had happened, which made it worse. Because Sam knew what had to happen next.

"Ready?" John asked, as he took Sam's hand.

Sam nodded in reply and screwed his eyes tightly shut.

John put his foot under Sam's arm to brace himself. Then he pulled.

Sam shouted out as the pain flooded through him, but felt the joint go back into place. He knew from experience that it would only feel better from this point, but that didn't stop the act from hurting like hell.

"Alright?" John asked.

Sam held his arm and ignored the question, looking over at Dean instead. "What did you do to him?"

John was checking on Dean too. "He'll have a nasty headache when he wakes up," he told Sam. "But he'll live."

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The warehouse was disused. There was no electricity, but the light from the coming dawn was just enough to illuminate most of the large space. Sam wasn't sure it was the best location, but understood that they wanted to attract as little attention as possible, and as John had put it; when Dean woke and the Braken showed up, things might get noisy.

Dean was handcuffed to one of several pipes that went from the floor to the ceiling. He was sitting slumped over on the floor. Sam had cleaned up the cuts on his face, and was troubled to find that most of the blood had not originated from them. Dean's knuckles were busted up, and Sam knew exactly how wounds like that came about. He couldn't help thinking that Dean was already gone. The way he talked, the hate in his eyes when he spoke...it was like another person.

Dean was still unconscious. It would be a while before the Braken showed up. John had told him it didn't like crowds, and usually only showed up when others were there as a last resort. There wasn't much to do but wait.

John caught Sam just staring at his brother. "There's still a chance," he said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam turned and moved away. "He attacked me. He didn't hold back, he was going to kill me."

"You know he isn't in a rational state of mind," John told him firmly. "Dean left because he wanted to protect you from this. Remember that."

Sam tentatively rubbed his shoulder. It was still aching and sore from the dislocation. "Where have you been, dad?" he found himself asking. He was tired and in pain, and everything that had occurred in the past few weeks was slowly caving in on him. He needed an outlet, and unfortunately Dean had busted up his right arm, so that ruled out punching a wall.

"Do we have to talk about this?" John replied.

"There's not much else to talk about."

"Sam..."

"Have you found it yet? The demon that killed mom and Jess?"

"I had its trail," John admitted, "but I lost it. I'll have to pick it up again after I'm done here."

"So you're just gonna go back. Without me and Dean, right?"

"That's right. I told you, you can't be a part of this."

"That's bullshit. You think you're the only one who wants the demon dead, the only one who's got something to want vengeance for?" Sam snapped. "I want to kill that thing as much as you do. You can't exclude me from this, I'm a part of it and so is Dean. We all are. That thing took something from all of us, not just from you."

"Yes, it did, and I can't let it take anymore," John argued. "I can't."

Sam was about to protest some more when another voice joined the conversation.

"Would you two mind just shutting the hell up? My god, you're so _whiny_."

Sam and John turned to Dean, who was now very awake and rolling his eyes.

"Dean..."

"How are you doing, son?" John asked, keeping a safe distance.

"I'm just great," Dean replied, looking past John and staring at Sam. "I told you not to call him. I _asked _you. But you did it anyway. What a surprise."

"I know what you did, Dean, and why you did it," John said, trying to stop Dean from playing on Sam's guilt. "But the Braken tricked you."

Dean's eyes shifted from Sam's to John's.

"It can't take a soul unless it's offered." John crouched down by Dean, but didn't let his guard down. "It was never going to take mine."

"So this is what it took to get you here," Dean said bitingly, ignoring John's attempt at connecting with him. "Wow. Maybe I should have tried selling my soul earlier, then I wouldn't have wasted so much time looking for you."

John looked at the floor, guilty and sorrowful. He was reminded of the times Dean had made him feel this way by telling him the cold truth in one of his drunken angers. There was no way of getting through to him then, either. "We're going to make things right," he told Dean, and stood up again. "Just hold on."

"'Cause you're such an expert at making things right," Dean spat, but his anger was suddenly cut short when he drew a sharp breath and leaned his head back as if he was in pain. "I'm sorry...please..."

Dean's eyes roamed around, scared, and his breathing became erratic.

"Just kill me..."

Sam looked away in revulsion, hearing his brother talk like that was never going to leave him, no matter how this turned out.

"Sam, this is going to be okay, you have to trust me on this," John assured, grasping Sam's shoulders and forcing eye contact.

"You said it might not even work, that he might be like this forever," Sam argued, the beginnings of tears starting in his eyes. "So I think it's asking a little much to trust that everything's going to be fine."

"Dean needs you to fight for him," John stated firmly. "And so do I."

Sam bit his lip and nodded resolutely. "I wanna burn this son of a bitch."

John smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear."

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Two hours passed. Dean had been drifting in and out of consciousness, and when he was awake his outbursts had been as disturbing and violent as the previous ones. Sam and John had to work hard to try and ignore the scathing words and pleas for death.

John had prepped Sam on destroying the demon. They had it all planned. If the demon possessed either of them, or Dean, John had a spell to purge the thing from its host. Then when it was in its natural form, the banishing ritual came into play. If everything went to plan it would be cast into the ether, trapped between and eventually starve to death. As John had put it; the bastard deserved nothing less.

"It came to me," Sam suddenly said, breaking the silence.

"The Braken?"

"Offered me a deal. My soul for Dean's."

John looked worried. "You didn't..."

"I didn't," Sam told him. He had clearly been giving this issue some deep thought. "I had a chance to save him, and I didn't. I mean, what does that say about me?"

"It says you're smart enough to know when you're being played," John told him. "The Braken is demon. It lies, and it deceives. If you'd offered it your soul, it probably would have taken it along with Dean's as well."

Sam didn't respond, but he didn't look very convinced by his father's assurances.

"Do you really think that if there was a solid chance that you could save your brother, that you wouldn't take it? Of course you would. We're saving Dean right now, Sam, the best way we know how."

Sam let out a slight laugh. "Yeah, I guess we are."

"Touching, really," Dean said from behind them.

The sarcastic and harsh tone of his voice was nothing new, but it was what Dean said next that caught Sam and John's attention.

"But you really should have taken me up on my offer, Sam."

Dean's eyes were swirling with grey mist once more. The Braken was back.

"Sam..." John said, silently ordering him to start the purging spell.

"Well hi there, John. I thought about making an offer to you, too. But you're too smart for that, aren't you?" the demon said with Dean's voice. "Not smart enough to take me out last time we met, though."

"I learn from my mistakes," John told it, reaching for the Holy Water.

"But not nearly fast enough, John. It's too late to save him. It was too late from the moment he offered his soul to me. Say goodbye to your son."

John watched and Dean screamed as the Braken started to take what was left of his tortured soul from the inside out.

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End of Chapter Thirteen  
Next Chapter: Overdue


	14. Overdue

NOTES: Ancient Greek and Latin aren't my forte, so thanks to the online translators for the incantations in this chapter. Oh no, it's the penultimate chapter! And it only seems like yesterday I started this whole shebang. I better start writing something else! 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN  
Overdue  
-----------------

Dean had stopped screaming, but his body was still rapt with silent agony as the Braken continued its attack from within him.

"Daimonion xenos diaspao ginomai duo! Aphorizo!" Sam shouted. It was one of the hardest things he had to do, to stand there attacking with only ancient words while his brother was being torn apart in front of him. But he knew it was the only way.

Sam knew it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for John either. His father pouring a wide circle of salt around himself and Dean to trap the demon in when it was expelled from Dean's body. Because the Braken was so strong, John had to enforce the circle with liberal splashes of Holy Water.

"Bleteos apostrepho!" Sam finished.

John uncuffed Dean and dragged him out of the circle and out of danger as the demon was torn, kicking and screaming, from his body. Sam rushed over to Dean, his job done, and John stepped back and began to recite the banishing ritual. With nowhere to go, the Braken, in all its disgusting glory, thrashed around inside the circle, its form floating just above the ground.

Sam dragged Dean's unconscious body further away from the chaos, but suddenly felt a pain inside his head. Not unlike the pain that came when he was getting a vision, it started small and built up quickly. He turned to see the Braken glaring at him with flaming eyes.

"_You think you can hold me? You think you can destroy me?!"_

Sam could hear the voice inside his head, accompanied by a stabbing pain behind his eyes. He screwed them shut, trying to block it out, but to no avail.

"_I've been taking souls for a thousand years, and I'll take them for another thousand! Nothing can stop me!"_

John watched Sam fall to his knees as the Braken somehow attacked him from inside the circle. But he knew he couldn't stop the spell.

"Inritus inter universitas vindicatum. Vos quod vos ero irretitus illic cetera of vicis!"

Sam opened his eyes and looked past the Braken. As John read the incantation, a black hole appeared in the middle of the warehouse. He had never seen anything like it. It began as a small sphere of darkness, and grew with crackling energy, stretching and pulsing until it was at least three metres wide. For a minute, Sam thought it wasn't going to stop growing, and consume the whole warehouse, Winchesters and all.

"_You think you can stop me?" _The Braken screamed inside Sam's skull. A drop of blood dripped from Sam's nose. _"You're nothing!"_

John shouted the final line of the incantation with savage ferocity. "Vos filius a meretricis!"

"If nothing can stop you, and I'm nothing..." Sam whispered as the breach reached its apex. "You do the math."

The Braken followed Sam's gaze to see the black void and let out an ear-piercing wail in protest. Debris from the floor began to gravitate towards to void as it sucked anything in the surrounding area into its core. Sam and John looked on as the demon was thrown against the invisible wall that the salt and Holy Water circle had created. At first it was stuck there, suspended, crushed between the force of the circle and the sheer power of the void. Then as the salt was drawn into the void as well, the Braken started to come apart.

As the grey dust of its shroud was stripped from the demon, it cried in horror and agony. It clawed at the floor, desperately clinging to the reality it wanted to stay a part of, but the pull of the breach was too powerful. The demon's manic shrieking grew to a crescendo as it was finally drawn into the darkness.

When it was fully engulfed, the void disappeared, collapsing in on itself. The warehouse fell silent.

For an endless minute, nothing moved.

"Sam, you alright?" John finally asked, rushing over to him.

Sam wiped the blood from under his nose and ignored the question, scrambling to his brother's side. Dean wasn't moving.

"Dean...Dean, can you hear me?" Sam asked tentatively.

John knelt down beside them and checked Dean's pupils.

Sam put his hand over his mouth but couldn't take his eyes off Dean's still form. "It didn't work..." he breathed.

"Calm down, give it a minute," John ordered calmly, but in truth he was just as scared.

"I mean, the reaction should have been instant, right?" Sam said, rambling. "He should be back to normal, he should be okay. It didn't work..."

Sam looked up at his father and knew that he believed it too.

John looked from Sam back to Dean. This wasn't happening. Not like this. Dean wasn't gone, he couldn't be gone. "He's exhausted. He hasn't slept or eaten in days, he's been drinking, and he's just been through a serious trauma. He's just...he's asleep."

Sam hadn't realised it, but that was all he needed to hear. "You're right," he said. His inner defences kicked in with a healthy dose of 'this ain't over 'til it's over' and Sam nodded to show his resolve. "We should get him to a hospital...but Dean said he hurt someone. The cops will be keeping tabs on the city hospitals."

"Then we'll get out of town. Come on, help me get him to the truck."

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Several hours later, John was carrying two polystyrene cups of coffee along a hospital corridor. He made his way back to Dean's room, a thankfully private one that they had managed to swing, probably because all three of them looked so drained and pitiful.

He entered to find both of his boys still asleep.

Sam had been utterly exhausted after the events that had taken place over the previous days and weeks. After they had arrived at the hospital, he wouldn't leave Dean's side until he was told by three separate doctors that they wouldn't be sure what was wrong with him until he woke up. Finally John said he would stay with Dean while Sam got his shoulder looked at. He came back with a sling twenty minutes later and had been by Dean's side ever since.

He'd fallen asleep a couple of hours ago, and John let him be. Dean was still out of it, so there wasn't much point in waking him, and Sam really did need the rest. John could have done with some sleep himself, but he would deny himself of it until he knew both his boys were okay. John looked over at Dean. His eldest son was battered and bruised, and his skin was pale. It was too early to tell if he would wake up or not. John had known when he'd entered the hospital that the doctor's wouldn't be able to tell them. They had never been sure what was wrong with the Braken's other victims, just that they would know more 'when they woke up'.

John didn't think less of Dean for taking the Braken's deal. In fact, he though more of him. Every time he looked in on his boys, they gave him more reasons to make him proud. Of course John would have rather Dean hadn't made the deal, because John was supposed to be the one protecting his boys, not the other way around. But doing stupid things to spare the people you love appeared to be a Winchester family trait. It was one of their more noble qualities.

Sam stirred in the corner chair. He was clearly still tired, but forced himself to sit up from his slouched position. "How long was I out?" he asked groggily, shortly succeeded by; "How's Dean?"

"A couple of hours, and there's no change," John replied, handing Sam one of the cups. "Docs say they'll now more when he wakes up."

"If he wakes up," Sam corrected, dejectedly, and took the coffee.

"Sam..." John started, but Sam cut him off.

"You said the demon was going to be trapped, and starve to death. What if Dean won't get better until the Braken dies?" Sam asked, his weary eyes on Dean.

"Then we'll wait," John said simply.

Sam took a few sips of the coffee and looked up at his father. "And if he never gets better?"

John walked to the other side of Dean's bed and sat down. "He will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't. But I have to believe it. Try to think positive."

"Think positive?" Sam scoffed weakly. "With our family's luck?"

John couldn't really refute his point with any strong evidence. "I phoned the police station and the city hospital. The people Dean hurt, they're going to be okay. And they were all too drunk to give tallying descriptions of their attacker. So that's something."

"Yeah," Sam replied dolefully. "I guess that's...something."

They were quiet for a few minutes more. John thought about all the times they had wound up in a hospital after a hunt gone wrong, or even after a hunt gone right. He was supposed to keeping his boys out of danger, and yet they'd seen enough hospitals to last three lifetimes, and they were still young.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," John found himself saying.

"For what?" Sam asked.

"For giving you that ultimatum. For being a drill sergeant first and a father second. For leaving Dean, for ignoring your calls. Take your pick. I'm sorry for it all."

Sam sat for a moment, bewildered, taking in his father's unexpected openness. "You always looked out for us, the best way you knew," he said finally. "And that's what me and Dean were doing when we were trying to find you."

"I know," John conceded. "I guess we're more alike than I thought."

"Oh yeah, we're carbon copies," Sam said, smirking.

John smiled. Sam matched it. He had almost forgotten what it felt like, to see his father's smile or to smile himself, for that matter. It had been a long time. And then they were quiet again, listening to the beeps of the medical equipment that was monitoring Dean's vitals.

Sam sighed. "All the hospital's we've been in, you'd think we'd find one that had decent coffee."

"You want something else?"

Sam looked at Dean. "No. Maybe the smell will snap him out it," he said, only half-kidding.

"I'm going to get some air," John announced, getting up. "Let me know if anything changes."

Sam nodded and was left alone with his brother.

With nothing else to listen to and nothing else to watch, Sam focused on the rhythmic sound of Dean's heart monitors and the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was almost hypnotic, slipping Sam into a sort of meditative trance. Of course, the fatigue might have been a contributing factor. If Dean woke up he'd probably make fun of him.

Sam didn't know what he would do if Dean didn't wake up. He didn't even want to think about it, but that didn't stop him. There was always the option of going back to college. But the more he thought about, the more he realised Dean had been right when he'd lashed out in the alley. He might have been out of his mind, but he had a point. Sam really was cursed. How could he go back, see him friends, pretend everything was normal? Life wasn't going to allow him to have normal. Besides, reuniting with his old friends would be all kinds of awkward. He could hear it now...

'Hi guys, long time no see. Where have I been? Oh, you know, the usual. Hunting demons, spirits, your general evil. Looking for my missing father who was searching for the demon that killed my mother when I was two months old. I found him, but only after my brother told me that he sold his soul a couple of years ago, and took off to protect me from the demon who was trying to take it, and from the dangerous psycho version of himself that he was going to turn into while his soul was sucked from his body.'

Sam was torn from his tired inner ramblings when he heard a change in the steady beep of Dean's heart monitor. At least he thought he did. He got out of the chair and moved towards the bed, studying the still unmoving features of Dean's face, and the slow rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were still closed. Maybe Sam had been hearing things...

"Dude, personal space?"

Sam laughed out loud. "Hey!" he said, practically gushing as Dean slowly opened his eyes.

Dean tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "Hey."

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" Sam questioned.

"You tell me," Dean replied drowsily. "What the hell happened?"

"The Braken's gone, banished," Sam began, on a high now that Dean was awake and not a raving psychopath. "Man, Dean, you should have seen it, it was intense. There was the black hole, and it sucked the thing into it kicking and screaming. I thought you were gone, I mean, at first we couldn't - "

"Woah, okay, slow down there," Dean said, attempting to sit up. "I think I'm going to need coffee for this."

Sam grinned wider than his mouth would normally allow.

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End of Chapter Fourteen  
Next Chapter: And Here I Stand (Final Chapter!)


	15. And Here I Stand

NOTES: Well, here we are at the end! Thank-you so much for sticking the course and being so kind, I never expected such a fantastic response! I'm toying around with sequel/tag-on material so let me know if there's anything you would like to have seen or would like to see and I'll do my best. Thanks again!!!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN  
And Here I Stand  
-----------------

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh...knocking you out at the motel," Dean answered, wincing a little. He could still see the fine bruise across Sam's jaw. His mind was still all over the place. What he could draw from his memories disturbed him, but he couldn't make much sense of it. "After that everything's kind of jumbled, you know?"

"A lot happened after you sucker-punched me," Sam said. He couldn't believe how relaxed his whole body was now that Dean was awake and talking to him. All the angst and anguish that had been weighing him down had been washed away in just a few seconds.

"Yeah, I can't believe you fell for that whole sleeping pills thing," Dean told him, trying to shake off the unpleasant memory of having to knock his little brother unconscious. He noticed Sam's sling, and a fleeting memory of wrenching Sam's arm from his socket entered his mind "I do that too?"

"It's no big deal, it's fine," Sam dismissed. He had almost forgotten all about it.

"I was trying to keep you safe. Looks like I did a great job," Dean said miserably. He couldn't quite understand why Sam was still beaming like he'd just won the lottery.

"Yeah, well I appreciate the effort. None of it matters now anyway."

"It matters to me," Dean argued. "I could have killed you."

"But you didn't. Everything's okay. You got your soul back, evil has been smited. Or is it smote...that word is like, archaic," Sam trailed off.

"Dude, would you quit being so freakin' happy and tell me what else happened? I only remember little pieces... Oh jesus, I kicked the crap out of someone, didn't I?"

"Four people, actually," Sam corrected, but rushed to continue when he saw Dean's eyes widen in shock. "But don't worry, they're all fine. Dad checked."

"Dad?!" Dean exclaimed, sitting up quickly and almost ripping his IV out.

Sam backed up a little and looked guilty. "You don't remember dad being here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Why would I remember that, I told you not to call him!" Dean said angrily.

"Dean, he helped me find you and banish the Braken, I couldn't have done it without him," Sam argued, keeping his tone calm. He'd completely forgotten about Dean's aversion to involving their father.

"What did you tell him?" Dean demanded.

"Everything," Sam admitted. "I had to, Dean. Plus he kinda guessed some of it," he added, shrugging, but not very sorry. It had all turned out okay.

"Ugh, I can't believe you Sammy!" Dean rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed. "Where is he?"

"Oh, shit, I should tell him you're awake," Sam suddenly realised. "I'll be right back,"

"Great. That's just great," Dean muttered, watching Sam practically skip out of the room, somehow still happy as a hyena on a coffee high. Which reminded him...

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"He's fine, he doesn't remember a lot of it, but he's talking and got annoyed at me in like, thirty seconds of being awake. So, I'm thinking he's back to normal," Sam grinned, leading John back to Dean's room.

When they arrived, the bed was empty.

"Dean?" Sam called. What the hell was this? Panicked, he looked around the room and checked the en suite bathroom, only to find the place empty.

Dean cleared his throat from the doorway, one hand on his IV stand, the other holding a cup of fresh coffee.

"Hey dad," he said, his voice weighed with guilt and apprehension. His eyes roamed the floor, then lifted to meet John's.

John said nothing, but pulled him into a long-waited embrace.

"I'm sorry," Dean choked out.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," John replied, and eventually pulled away. "But there will be if you don't get back into that bed and rest up."

Sam smiled and everything felt right. He pushed away any notion that it might not last, and just enjoyed the moment. "I'm going to get a doctor, see when we can get out of here," he said after a short while, and left them alone.

"I was checking up on some of the Braken's past victims," John began as Dean walked back over to the bed and sat down. "Some of them are coming out of their comas. It's over," he finished, meeting Dean in the eye.

Dean looked away. "It should have been over two years ago. I should have made sure..."

"It doesn't matter now," John interrupted. He knew Dean had a guilt complex, and how he let it eat away at him. He didn't plan on letting that happen again. "We made it right. All of us. The Braken can't hurt anyone else, and it didn't in those two years. So this job's just taken a little longer than usual, that's all."

"Yeah," Dean said, laughing a little, but there was still a lot of pain in his eyes.

"How much do you remember?" John asked.

"Bits and pieces," Dean replied. "I remember saying some terrible things. To you and Sam."

John shook his head slightly. "Just words," he dismissed. "Besides, did you see Sam? I think he's already forgotten about it."

Dean knew his father was just trying to make himself feel better, and decided to let him, just this once.

"I also need to say thank-you," John added.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "For what?"

"You went above and beyond. You were prepared to sacrifice more than your life for me. Not only that, but you left Sam to protect him getting hurt. Trust me, I know how hard that must have been."

It was true, leaving Sam had gone against everything Dean innately believed, but he had to do it for the greater good. It was a twisted role switch swap-over between the three Winchesters, but Dean had come away from it with a higher understanding of his father's actions. Of course, it didn't mean he had to like it.

"You not staying, are you?" Dean asked outright. He had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it.

John shook his head slowly. Dean looked away.

"I wanted to see this through, make sure you were alright, and I've done that," John told him. "Now I have something else to see through."

"The Demon," Dean stated. It was a foregone conclusion.

"That's right. I know you and Sam want to be there when I find it. But it has to be this way. I can't have you boys there, I can't have you getting hurt."

"I understand," Dean told him. He didn't like it, but he understood. "I didn't get it before...but I do now. So go find it. And if you change your mind about needing help, you've got my number."

John nodded and got up to leave.

"Stay alive, alright?" Dean said when he was at the door.

"You too."

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Sam returned to Dean's room a few minutes later. "The doctor's gonna be in a minute," he said, stopping when he realised something wasn't right. "Where's dad?"

"He's...uh..."

"Gone," Sam deduced.

"Yeah."

The brothers were silent for a moment, both trying to figure out how exactly they felt about it.

"I thought he'd stay longer," Sam said quietly.

"I told him to go," Dean admitted, his voice still heavy with emotion.

"Why?"

"Honestly? I didn't want to get used to having him around again, and then have him take off," Dean explained, unusually frank. "I'm done with the whole abandonment thing for a while. So, if you wanna go as well, do me a favour and go now. Because I might start getting used to you too."

Sam stared at his brother for a few moments and made a decision. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean met him in the eye with cautious hope. "You can't promise that," he said, shaking his head.

Sam swallowed. "I can, I did. I meant it. I'm not saying I'll do this until I die, alright, but I'm just telling you that for the time being? You're stuck with me."

The room fell into silence once again.

Dean nodded thoughtfully, then tried to hold back a smirk. "What a horrible thing to say. Jeez, I just went through a traumatic experience, come on. What did I do to deserve your sorry ass?"

Sam let his lips break into a wide grin. "Well, you dislocated my shoulder, for one," he said jokingly.

"Yeah, well, that just proves you have weak girly arms and old man joints," Dean threw back.

"Shut up." Sam shook his head in happy disbelief. Dean was definitely back to normal. Things weren't perfect by a long shot, and the whole missing father issue was still unresolved, but there would be plenty of time to sort that out. Sam had meant what he said when he'd told Dean he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. He owed him that much.

"Thanks," Dean said, turning serious. "I guess I owe you my soul."

"Yeah ya do," Sam said, scoffing. "I'd probably take better care of it too, not go offering it up on a platter to every demon that comes strolling by."

"Oh, so we're joking about it already, huh?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I can joke about whatever I want, dude. I saved your _soul_."

Both brothers laughed, and it was as if it signified the end of the ordeal. They could start getting back on track, even if that track was long and arduous. It was _their _track, and it was where they belonged.

"Man, I am starved," Sam said. Now he had the time to listen to what his body had been trying to say, it was screaming that it was hungry.

"_You're _starved?" Dean repeated. "All I've had is IV fluid for the past...how long have I been out?"

"Uh, I think it's Wednesday," Sam told him.

"K, that doesn't help me."

"Does it really matter?"

"I guess not. I swear. I could eat a hundred truck-stop cheeseburgers right about... Oh my god..."

Sam switched from zero to panicked in a heartbeat, fearing that maybe Dean remembered something terrible, or that the Braken had done something to him before it was banished, or that the doctors had missed something... "What? What is it?"

Dean looked at him, eyes full of alarm.

"I can't remember where I parked the car."

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THE END


End file.
